breathed an atmosphere of aesthetic asceticism.

Since lunch Mr. Taynton had glanced at the paper, and also looked up the
trains from Lewes in order to assure himself that he need not expect his
partner till half past nine, and since then, though his hands and his
eyes had been idle, his mind had been very busy. Yet for all its
business, he had not arrived at much. Morris, Godfrey Mills, and himself;
he had placed these three figures in all sorts of positions in his mind,
and yet every combination of them was somehow terrible and menacing. Try
as he would he could not construct a peaceful or secure arrangement of
them. In whatever way he grouped them there was danger.

The kitchen passage ran out at right angles to the room in which he sat,
and formed one side of the garden. The windows in it were high up, so
that it did not overlook the flowerbeds, and on this torrid afternoon
they were all fully open. Suddenly from just inside came the fierce
clanging peal of a bell, which made him start from his recumbent
position. It was the front-door bell, as he knew, and as it continued
ringing as if a maniac's grip was on the handle, he heard the steps of
his servant running along the stone floor of the passage to see what
imperative summons this was. Then, as the front door was opened, the bell
ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the moment afterward he heard
Morris's voice shrill and commanding.

"But he has got to see me," he cried, "What's the use of you going to ask
if he will?"

Mr. Taynton went to the door of his room which opened into the hall.

"Come in, Morris," he said.