"And that accounts, I dare say, for their being of such a crooked and cantankerous nature.

They're a wonderful race women are; and for what Inscrutable reason it has pleased Providence to create them--" The opening of the door brought to a sudden end this little touch of moralizing, and a wrinkled old porter thrust out a very withered and unlovely face.
"La Masque at home ?" inquired Ormiston, stepping in, without ceremony.
The old man nodded, and pointed up stairs; and with a "This way, Kingsley," Ormiston sprang lightly up, three at a time, followed in the same style by Sir Norman.
"You seem pretty well acquainted with the latitude and longitude of this place," observed that young gentleman, as they passed into a room at the head of the stairs.
"I ought to be; I've been here often enough," said Ormiston.

"This is the common waiting-room for all who wish to consult La Masque.

That old bag of bones who let us in has gone to announce us." Sir Norman took a seat, and glanced curiously round the room.

It was a common-place apartment enough, with a floor of polished black oak, slippery as ice, and shining like glass; a few old Flemish paintings on the walls; a large, round table in the centre of the floor, on which lay a pair of the old musical instruments called "virginals." Two large, curtainless windows, with minute diamond-shaped panes, set in leaden casements, admitted the golden and crimson light.
"For the reception-room of a sorceress," remarked Sir Norman, with an air of disappointed criticism, "there is nothing very wonderful about all this.