Then he went back to the dining-room and drank a great deal more than was good for him.

Of course he left the drawing-room window open and the lamp burning, and by midnight he was sleeping heavily in the adjoining room.
And the wind got up in the night: it played with the muslin curtains, flinging them out like streamers into the room; played with the flimsy parasol lamp-shade until it tilted, and the little lamp was thrown on to the floor.
Mrs.Nevill Tyson woke with the light crash.

She sat up for a moment, then got out of bed, crossed the passage, and opened the drawing-room door.

A warm wind puffed in her face; the air was full of black flakes flying through a red rain; a stream of fire ran along the floor, crests of flames leapt and quivered over the steady blue under-current; and over there, in the corner, an absurd little arm-chair had caught fire all by itself; the flames had peeled off its satin covering like a skin, and were slowly consuming the horse-hair stuffing; the pitiable object sent out great puffs and clouds of smoke that writhed in agonized spirals.

The tiny room had become a battlefield of dissolute forces.