In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.
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