Meg was aware of passing through a room larger and more splendid than the one she had just left. Then Mr. Fullbloom pushed open a door and ushered her into another room furnished with bookcases filled with books, a long table, and dark leather chairs.
An old gentleman was sitting there. His chair was against the window, so that his face was in shadow, but his white hair shone. He was leaning back; there was something rigid in his attitude; his long white hands grasped the arms of the chair.
"Here is the little girl," said Mr. Fullbloom.
The white-haired gentleman made no sign of greeting, and did not speak for a moment; but a close observer might have noticed, even in that half-light, a slight twitch of the old hand.
"You are the little girl who spent all your life in Mrs. Browne's boarding-house?" he said at last, abruptly.
"Yes, sir," said Meg with a quiver in her voice.
In her heart she thought the elderly gentleman was not to be compared in appearance with the glittering footman; but his chill stare seemed to freeze her.
"You remember no other place? You have never been to another?" he asked.
"I remember other places, but I have never lived in another place," said Meg with her usual accuracy.