ed
packing-case, fatigued but happy, or go up to have tea with her out
of the right tea things, "come at last," or be told to notice what was
fresh there. It wasn't simply that I had never had a house before, but
I had really never been, except in the most transitory way, in any house
that was nearly so delightful as mine promised to be. Everything was
fresh and bright, and softly and harmoniously toned. Downstairs we had
a green dining-room with gleaming silver, dark oak, and English
colour-prints; above was a large drawing-room that could be made still
larger by throwing open folding doors, and it was all carefully done in
greys and blues, for the most part with real Sheraton supplemented by
Sheraton so skilfully imitated by an expert Margaret had discovered as
to be indistinguishable except to a minute scrutiny. And for me, above
this and next to my bedroom, there was a roomy study, with specially
thick stair-carpet outside and thick carpets in the bedroom overhead and
a big old desk for me to sit at and work between fire and window, and
another desk specially made for me by that expert if I chose to
stand and write, and open bookshelves and bookcases and every sort of
convenient fitting. There were electric heaters beside the open fire,
and everything was put for me to make tea at any time--electric kettle,
infuser, biscuits and fresh butter, so that I could get up and work at
any hour of the day or night. I could do no work in this apartment for
a long time, I was so interested in the perfection of its arrangements.
And when I brought in my books and papers from Vincent Square, Margaret
seized upon all the really shabby volumes and had them re-bound in a
fine official-looking leather.

I can remember sitting down at that desk and looking round me and
feeling with a queer effect of surprise that after all even a place
in the Cabinet, though infinitely remote, was nevertheless in the same
large world with these fine and quietly expensive things.

On the same floor Margaret had a "den," a very neat and pretty den with
good colour-prints of Botticellis and Carpaccios, and there was a third
apartment for sectarial purposes should the necessity for them arise,
with a severe-looking desk equipped with patent files. And Margaret
would come flitting into the room to me, or appear noiselessly
standing, a tall gracefully drooping form, in the wide open doorway. "Is
everything right, dear?" she would ask.

"Come in," I woul