A middle-aged maid appeared, like a suspicious scout, at the far end of the hall, beyond the stairs, having opened a door which showed a glimpse of a kitchen.
"That tea ready?" asked George Cannon.
"No, sir," said the maid plumply.
"Well, let it be got ready."
"Yes, sir." The maid vanished, flouncing.
Sarah Gailey, with a heavy sigh, dropped her small belongings on to a narrow bare table that stood against the wall near the foot of the stairs. Daylight was fading.
"Well," said George Cannon, balancing his hat on his cane, "your luggage will be here directly. This is the dining-room." He pushed at a yellow-grained door.
The women followed him into the dining-room, and stared at the dining-room in silence.
"There's a bedroom behind," he said, as they came out, and he displayed the bedroom behind. "That's the kitchen." He pointed to the adjoining door.
"The drawing-room's larger," he said. "It includes the width of the hall."