The lackey had thrown open a door and stood waiting. Leighton turned and
called:

"Come on, boy."

Lewis followed them through a second drawing-room and into a library.
Here they were asked to sit. Never had Lewis dreamed of such a room. It
was all in oak--in oak to which a century of ripening had given a rare
flower.

There was only one picture, and that was placed over the great
fireplace. It was the portrait of a beautiful woman--waves of gray hair
above a young face and bright black eyes. The face laughed at them and
at the rows upon rows of somber books that reached from floor to
ceiling.

Before the fireplace were two leather chairs and a great leather couch.
At each end of the couch stood lighted lamps, shaded to a deep-amber
glow.

The lackey returned.

"Her ladyship waits for you in her room, sir."

Leighton nodded, and led Lewis down a short hall. The library had been
dark, the hall was darker. Lewis felt depressed. He heard his father
knock on a door and then open it. Lewis caught his breath.

The door had opened on a little realm of light. Fresh blue and white
cretonnes and chintzes met his unaccustomed eyes; straight chairs,