Wyndham could not maintain his reasoned conviction of
the simplicity and insignificance of the occasion.

He had the very real thrill of embarking on some extraordinary
adventure; even of stepping outside his own existence--that theatre
where he had been the spectator of his own fate, whose curtain--fire-proof
--had already fallen on a played-out drama. But here was a strange
theatre, with a curtain to rise, fascinating with promise of other drama
to be revealed; yet the stillness and the dim light cast some spell of
awe upon him.

A hand seemed to clutch at him and pull him back out of the house at the
last moment. He was penetrating here against the warning of his deeper
self; his heart beat fast not merely with the consciousness of
imprudence, but of downright disloyalty to the settled destiny before
which he had bowed his head so profoundly. The warning voice, too, was
stern; but the sense of daring, of courting and facing some unknown
delicious danger, lured him forward.

His lordship had already gone across to his club, the butler informed
him; but he had half-expected Wyndham and had left orders in case he
should present himself. As he followed the man up to the room he had
used of old, he felt, despite the lofty well of the staircase, that the
air hung heavy in the great house, muffled and silent with gigantic
hangings, and thick carpets underfoot. Wyndham stood at the well-known
window a leisurely moment, then arranged a chair or two, and unpacked
his materials. The butler helped him to open the casement at the side of
the bay and to rearrange the curtain, then asked if there was anything
more he could do for him.

"Oh, would you get my hat again?" returned Wyndham, as a current of
wintry air flowed in. He laughed; having forgotten he could not work
uncovered.

When finally the man had complied with his request, and left him again,
Wyndham looked out on the scene before him, his eye lingering for a
moment on the royal gardens, then trying to catch the exact view he had
painted. But as yet his mind was in too great a turmoil to concentrate
itself sternly on the business in hand. "I shall be acclimatised in a
minute or two," he reassured himself. "The atmosphere of this house is
so oppressive--it upset me the first moment." He stood gratefully
inhaling the fresher draught that streamed against his face; and when he
had calmed down he took a turn or two about the room, observing it with
interest. He had sca