On this shelf and on tables and in a high window was the strangest array of objects that St.George had ever seen.

There were small busts of soft rose stone, like blocks of coral.

There was a statue or two of some indefinable white material, glistening like marble and yet so soft that it had been indented in several places by accidental pressure.

There were fans of strangely-woven silk, with sticks of carven rock-crystal, and hand mirrors of polished copper set in frames of gems that he did not recognize.

Upon the wall were mended bits of purple tapestry, embroidered or painted or woven in singular patterns of flora and birds that St.George could not name.