“You’ve got a little time to spare. You may as well see the house,” he said, carelessly.
“Thank you, sir; thank you, Mr. Bartley, if it’s not giving you too much trouble,” croaked Mr. Mowle obsequiously, as he followed him.
“This is the hall,” said Bartley Bradstone, waving his hand. “Notice this window, Mowle. It cost me fifteen hundred pounds.”
Mowle blinked at the window, and cast a fishy eye round the oaken panels and the men in armor.
“The drawing-room,” said Mr. Bradstone. “Decorated by Marks. I paid him four hundred pounds. Had the furniture designed by Fox.”
“Beautiful! beautiful!” murmured Mowle.
“And this is the dining-room. Sorry you can’t stay to dinner, I’d have shown you the plate.”
“Superb apartment,” croaked Mowle, peering in with his shoulders bent meekly.
“Library you’ve seen. Here’s the billiard-room. Electric light, you see.”
“I see, sir. Delightful.”