The broad staircase made a great bend, and in the angle was a high window, looking westward, with a deep bench, covered with a row of flowering plants in curious old pots of blue china-ware.

The yellow afternoon light came in through the flowers and flickered a little on the white wainscots.

Eugenia paused a moment; the house was perfectly still, save for the ticking, somewhere, of a great clock.

The lower hall stretched away at the foot of the stairs, half covered over with a large Oriental rug.

Eugenia lingered a little, noticing a great many things.