entered her drawing-room incuriously. Three years of
entering drawing-rooms which he never thereafter was to see had
robbed him of that sensation of indefinable charm which for many a
strange room never ceases to yield. He had found far too many tables
upholding nothing which one could remember, far too many pictures
that returned his look, and rugs that seemed to have been selected
arbitrarily and because there was none in stock that the owner
really liked. He was therefore pleasantly surprised and puzzled by
the room which welcomed him. The floor was tiled in curious blocks,
strangely hieroglyphed, as if they had been taken from old tombs.
Over the fireplace was set a panel of the same stone, which, by the
thickness of the tiles, formed a low shelf. On this shelf and on
tables and in a high window was the strangest array of objects that
St. George had ever seen. There were small busts of soft rose stone,
like blocks of coral. There was a statue or two of some indefinable
white material, glistening like marble and yet so soft that it had
been indented in several places by accidental pressure. There were
fans of strangely-woven silk, with sticks of carven rock-crystal,
and hand mirrors of polished copper set in frames of gems that he
did not recognize. Upon the wall were mended bits of purple
tapestry, embroidered or painted or woven in singular patterns of
flora and birds that St. George could not name. There were rolls of
parchment, and vases of rock-crystal, and a little apparatus, most
delicately poised, for weighing unknown, delicate things; and jars
and cups without handles, all baked of a soft pottery having a nap
like the down of a peach. Over the windows hung curtains of lace,
woven by hands which St. George could not guess, in patterns of such
freedom and beauty as western looms never may know. On the floor and
on the divans were spread strange skins, some marked like peacocks,
some patterned like feathers and like seaweed, all in a soft fur
that was like silk.

Mingled with these curios were the ordinary articles of a cultivated
household. There were many books, good pictures, furniture with
simple lines, a tea-table that almost ministered of itself, a
work-basket filled with "violet-weaving" needle-work, and a gossipy
clock with well-bred chimes. St. George was enormously attracted by
the room which could harbour so many pagan delights without itself
falling their victim. The air was fresh and cool and smel