There was a small conservatory or glazed niche on one side of the
room, into which the boy dragged Lenore, and Julius followed, dimly
sensible of what the quarion might be, and hoping for a word with
the young lady, while he trusted to his wife to occupy her sister.

The place contained two desolate camellias, with leaves in the same
proportion as those on trees in the earlier ages of illumination,
and one scraggy, leafless geranium, besides a green and stagnant
tank, where a goldfish moved about, flapping and gasping, as the boy
disturbed it in his search for the crayfish. He absorbed all the
conversation, so that Julius could only look back into the room,
where an attempt at artistic effect was still dimly visible through
accumulated litter. The Venus of Milo stood on a bracket, with a
riding-whip in her arms, and a bundle of working society tickets
behind her, and her vis-a-vis, the Faun of Praxiteles, was capped by
a glove with one finger pointing upwards, and had a ball of worsted
tangled about his legs; but further observation was hindered by the
man-servant's voice at the outer door, "Master Ducky, where are you?
Your ma says you are to go to bed directly."

"No, no, I'll put myself to bed!"

"Come, sir, please do, like a good boy--Master Pinney won't go
without you, and I must put him to bed while they are dishing up.
Come, sir, I've got a mince-pie for you."

"And some oysters--Bobby said I should have some oysters!"

"Yes, yes; come along, sir."