filled to overflowing with servants, amazed him.

The glances that he cast about him, however, were
impassive enough. His mind was charged with the ceaseless
responsibility of being astonished at nothing.
A man took his hat, and helped him off with his coat.
Another moved toward the staircase with his two bags.

"If you will follow Pangbourn," said his host,
indicating this second domestic, "he will look after you.
You would like to go up and change now, wouldn't you?
There's a fire in your room."

Thus dismissed, he went up the stairs in the wake
of his portmanteaus, taking the turning to the left,
and then proceeding by a long, low passage, round more than
one corner, to what he conceived to be a wing of the house.
The servant ushered him into a room--and, in despite
of himself, he sighed with pleasure at the sight of it.
The prettiest and most charming of rooms it seemed
to him to be--spacious and quaintly rambling in shape,
with a delicately-figured chintz repeating the dainty
effects of the walls upon the curtains and carpet and
bed-hangings and chair-covers, and with a bright fire
in the grate throwing its warm, cozy glow over everything.
He looked at the pictures on the walls, at the photographs
and little ornaments on the writing desk, and the high
posts and silken coverlet of the big bed, and, secure in
the averted face of the servant, smiled richly to himself.