"Humble-minded? One of my boys humble-minded? No, indeed; he's
grammatical, that's all; he prefers 'isn't.' Come up."

Mrs. Bates hurried her guest over the stairway and through several halls
and passages, and introduced her finally into a large and spacious room
done in white and gold. In the glittering electrolier wires mingled with
pipes and bulbs with globes. To one side stood a massive brass bedstead
full panoplied in coverlet and pillow-cases, and the mirror of the
dressing-case reflected a formal row of silver-backed brushes and combs.

"My bedroom," said Mrs. Bates. "How does it strike you?"

"Why," stammered Jane, "It's all very fine, but--"

"Oh yes; I know what they say about it--I've heard them a dozen times.
'It's very big and handsome and all, but not a bit home-like. _I_
shouldn't want to sleep here.' Is that the idea?"

"About," said Jane.

"Sleep here!" echoed Mrs. Bates. "I _don't_ sleep here. I'd as soon think
of sleeping out on the prairie. That bed isn't to _sleep_ in; it's for
the women to lay their hats and cloaks on. Lay yours there now."

Jane obeyed. She worked herself out of her old blue sack, and disposed
it, neatly folded, on the brocaded coverlet. Then she took off her mussy
little turban and placed it on the sack. "What a strange woman," she
murmured to herself. "She doesn't get any music out of her piano; she
doesn't get any reading out of her books; she doesn't even get any sleep
out of her bed." Jane smoothed down her hair and awaited the next stage