It was fortunate, perhaps, that the room was empty.
"Mr.and Mrs.Weatherley will be downstairs in one moment, sir," the man announced.

"Mr.Weatherley was a little late home from the city." Arnold nodded and stood upon the hearthrug, looking around him.

He was quite content to spend a few moments alone, to admire the drooping clusters of roses, the elegance with which every article of furniture and appointment of the room seemed to fit into its place.
Somehow or other, too, nothing appeared new.

Everything seemed subdued by time into its proper tone.

He began to wonder what sort of woman the presiding genius over such perfection could be.