"What's this?" he enquired.

"Your tea, sir."

Quest drank half a cupful without protest.

"Your bath is ready at any time, sir."

"I'm coming right along," Quest replied, jumping out of bed.

The man held up a dressing-gown and escorted him to an unexpectedly modern
bathroom at the end of the corridor. When Quest returned, his toilet
articles were all laid out for him with prim precision; the window was
wide open, the blinds drawn, and a soft breeze was stealing through into
the room. Below him, the park, looking more beautiful than ever in the
morning sunshine, stretched away to a vista of distant meadowlands and
cornfields, with here and there a little farm-house and outbuildings,
gathered snugly together. The servant, who had heard him leave the
bathroom, reappeared.

"Is there anything further I can do for you, sir?" he enquired.

"Nothing at all, thanks," Quest assured him. "What time's breakfast?"

"Breakfast is served at nine o'clock, sir. It is now half-past eight."

The man withdrew and Quest made a brisk toilet. The nameless fears of the
previous night had altogether disappeared. To his saner morning
imagination, the atmosphere seemed somehow to have become cleared of that
cloud of mysterious depression. He was whistling to himself from sheer