It was a long corridor and it branched into other corridors and it led her up short flights of steps which mounted to others again.

There were doors and doors, and there were pictures on the walls.

Sometimes they were pictures of dark, curious landscapes, but oftenest they were portraits of men and women in queer, grand costumes made of satin and velvet.

She found herself in one long gallery whose walls were covered with these portraits.

She had never thought there could be so many in any house.