u, mixed with a "little English Gothic." Huge,
un-nameable animals were carved on top of the gates. Tom said the
fathers of them must have been "gazeekas," and their mothers "slithy
toves," out of "Through the Looking-glass." They were Mr. Purdy's
crest, we suppose. Then came a short gravel path and a robber's castle,
nail-studded door. All the down-stairs windows had the shutters shut,
so we were rather nervous ringing the bell in case there had been a
death since our invitation came; but the door was opened immediately by
a German butler--one of those people one sees at sea-side hotels, who
have come over to learn English, with a slow sort of walk and
stentorian breathing.

The hall was full of pictures in the widest gold frames, all sorts:
landscapes, portraits, cats, dogs, groups of still life, good, bad, and
indifferent massed together on a wall covered with large-patterned
scarlet and gilt Japanese leather paper. Guarding the doors and
staircase were imitation suits of armour on dummy men, standing under
some really beautiful Toledo blades crossed above their heads. Then,
through crimson plush curtains with gold applique Florentine patterned
borders, we were ushered into the drawing-room.

It was so original! Think, Mamma, of a sarcophagus for a drawing-room!
Stone walls and floor, tombstone mantlepieces (mixed Gothic), really
good Persian rugs, and the very most carved, brand new gilt Louis
Philippe suite of furniture, helped out by mammoth armchairs and sofa,
covered in gold brocade. These had the same shape and look for
furniture as the men in the hotel hall had for men, so colossally
stuffed out and large. The Vicomte said, "Dieu! Un salon
d'Hippopotames!" It was a glorious sunny day, but from the hall onwards
all daylight had been excluded, and the drawing-room was a blaze of
electric light, flashing from countless gilt branches; while the guests
to meet us were drawn up on the hearth rug, the women in full
restaurant evening dress, a little decollete, and hats, and glittering
with jewels.

Octavia and I felt miserably cheap creatures. Mr. Craik V. Purdy,
simply gorgeous about waistcoat and watchchain, presented us to his
wife, a short, red-haired woman (I do dislike red hair, don't you,
Mamma?). She was very stout, but I don't understand why she was such a
"drawback." She had the jolliest face and laugh, even if her voice was
the voice of the Lusitania's siren.

The customs are so quaint! She introduced