After waiting five minutes and knocking twice, a slatternly maid appeared and asked him to walk upstairs. Rupert followed her leisurely; he knew very well what sort of reception to expect, and was not surprised when she merely opened the drawing-room door, and left him to announce himself. "No ceremony" was the rule in the Herons' household, and very objectionable Rupert Vivian sometimes found it. The day had been foggy and dark, and a bright fire threw a cheerful light over the scene which presented itself to Rupert's eyes. A pleasant clinking of spoons and cups and saucers met his ear. He stood at the door for a moment unobserved, listening and looking on. He was a privileged person in that house, and considered himself quite at liberty to look and listen if he chose. The room had an air of comfort verging upon luxury, but if was untidy to a degree which Rupert thought disgraceful. For the rich hues of the curtains, the artistic character of the Japanese screens and Oriental embroideries, the exquisite landscape-paintings on the walls, were compatible with grave deficiencies in the list of more ordinary articles of furniture. There were two or three picturesque, high-backed chairs, made of rosewood (black with age) and embossed leather, but the rest of the seats consisted of divans, improvised by ingenious fingers out of packing-boxes and cushions covered with Morris chintzes; or brown Windsor chairs, evidently imported straight from the kitchen. A battered old writing-desk had an incongruous look when placed next to a costly buhl clock on a table inlaid indeed with mother-of-pearl, but wanting in one leg; and so no valuable blue china was apt to pass unobserved upon the mantelpiece because it was generally found in company with a child's mug, a plate of crusts, or a painting-rag. A grand piano stood open, and was strewn with sheets of music; two sketching portfolios conspicuously adorned the hearth-rug. A tea-table was drawn up near the fire, and the firelight was reflected pleasantly in the gleaming silver and porcelain of the tea-service. The human elements of the scene were very diverse. Mrs. Heron, a languid-looking, fair-haired woman, lay at full length on one of the divans. Her step-daughter, Kitty, sat at the tea-table, and Kitty's elder brother, Percival, a tall, broad-shouldered young man of eight-and-twenty, was leaning against the mantelpiece. A girl, who looked about twenty-one years of age was sitting in the deepest shadow of the room. The firelight played upon her hands, which lay quietly folded before her in her lap, but it did not touch her face. Two or three children were playing about the floor with their toys and a white fox-terrier. The young man was talking very fast, two at least of the ladies were laughing, the children were squabbling and shouting. It was a Babel. As Rupert stood at the door he caught the sense of Percival's last rapid sentences.