During her momentary absence the man, Smith, looked about him, and as
he looked he pulled at his collar. He felt suddenly a choking,
suffocating sensation. He still had the curious feeling of trying to
catch his breath when the woman came back and took the chair facing
him. In a moment he knew why he felt so suffocated--it was because
that nowhere could he see an object that was not wholly or partially
covered with some other object, or that was not serving as a cover
itself.

The floor bore innumerable small rugs, one before each chair, each
door, and the fireplace. The chairs themselves, and the sofa, were
covered with gray linen slips, which, in turn, were protected by
numerous squares of lace and worsted of generous size. The green silk
spread on the piano was nearly hidden beneath a linen cover, and the
table showed a succession of layers of silk, worsted, and linen,
topped by crocheted mats, on which rested several books with paper-
enveloped covers. The chandelier, mirror, and picture frames gleamed
dully from behind the mesh of pink mosquito netting. Even through the
doorway into the hall might be seen the long, red-bordered white linen
path that carried protection to the carpet beneath.

"I don't like gas myself." (With a start the man pulled himself
together to listen to what the woman was saying.) "I think it's a
foolish extravagance, when kerosene is so good and so cheap; but my
husband will have it, and Mellicent, too, in spite of anything I say--
Mellicent's my daughter. I tell 'em if we were rich, it would be
different, of course. But this is neither here nor there, nor what you
came to talk about! Now just what is it that you want, sir?"

"I want to board here, if I may."