No one dare say they don't.

I think they meddle a good deal more with this life than we count on." The days that followed were days in The House Wonderful.

It held the treasure-trove of centuries; all its rooms were full of secrets.
Even the common sitting-room had an antique homeliness that provoked questions as to the dates of its furniture and the whereabouts of its wall cupboards and hidden recesses.

Its china had the marks of forgotten makers, its silver was puzzling with half-obliterated names and dates, its sideboard of oak was black with age and full of table accessories, the very names of which were forgotten.

For this house had not been built in the ordinary sense, it had grown through centuries; grown out of desire and necessity, just as a tree grows, and was therefore fit and beautiful.