He had uncovered the old oak beams, stripped five layers of paper off the walls of the living rooms, and laid bare what panelling there was--in fact he had restored the interior of the old building, while leaving the rose and clematis covered trellis which was on the portion of the house standing at right angles to the village street, and which gave it its name.
In a sense it was too much like a stage picture to please a really fine taste.

But to Enid Crofton it formed an ideal background for her attractive self.

She had sold for very high prices the sound, solid, fine, 18th century furniture, which her husband had inherited, and with the proceeds she had bought the less comfortable but to the taste of the moment, more attractive oak furnishings of The Trellis House.
Enid Crofton was the kind of woman who acquires helpful admirers in every profession.

The junior partner of the big firm of house-agents who had disposed of the lease of Fildy Fe Manor had helped her in every way possible, though he had been rather surprised and puzzled, considering that she knew no one there, at her determination to find a house in, or near, the village of Beechfield.
It was also an admirer, the only one who had survived from her war sojourn in Egypt--a cheery, happy, good-looking soldier, called Tremaine, now at home on leave from India--who had helped her in the actual task of settling in.

Not that there had been much settling in to do--for the house had been left in perfect order by its last tenant.