Electric light fixtures hung from the ceiling and the walls.
"Going to have an artists' colony up here ?" teased Archey, and looking around in admiration he repeated, "No, sir! I wouldn't mind living in one of these houses myself--" They went into the next room--the sitting room proper--unusual for its big bay window, its built-in cupboards and bookshelves.

Then came the bathroom and three bed-rooms, all in true bungalow style on one floor.
When they had first entered, Mary and Archey had chatted freely enough, but gradually they had grown quieter.

There is probably no place in the world so contributive to growing intimacy as a new empty house--when viewed by a young man and a younger woman who have known each other for many years-- The place seems alive, hushed, expectant, watching every move of its visitors, breathing suggestions to them-- "Do you like it ?" asked Mary, breaking the silence.
Archey nodded, afraid for the moment to trust himself to speak.

They looked at each other and, almost in haste, they went outside.
"He'll never get over that trick of blushing," thought Mary.

At the end of the hall was a closet door with a mirror set in it.