Mrs. Pasmer willingly assented to its being much better, out of pure
complaisance, though the ceilings were low and the windows small, and it
did not seem to her that the Franklin stove and the aesthetic papering
and painting of young Mavering's room brought it up to the level of those
others that she had seen. But with her habit of saying some friendly
lying thing, no matter what her impressions were, she exclaimed; "Oh, how
cosy!" and glad of the word, she went about from one to another, asking,
"Isn't this cosy?"

Mrs. Saintsbury said: "It's supposed to be the cell of a recluse; but it
is cosy--yes."

"It looks as if some hermit had been using it as a store-room," said her
husband; for there were odds and ends of furniture and clothes and boxes
and handbags scattered about the floor.

"I forgot all about them when I asked you," cried Mavering, laughing out
his delight. "They belong to some fellows that are giving spreads in
their rooms, and I let them put them in here."

"Do you commonly let people put things in your room that they want to get
rid off?" asked Mrs. Pasmer.

"Well, not when I'm expecting company."

"He couldn't refuse even then, if they pressed the matter," said Mrs.
Saintsbury, lecturing upon him to her friend.

"I'm afraid you're too amiable altogether, Mr. Mavering. I'm sure you let
people impose upon you," said the other lady. "You have been letting us