What a beautiful old house it was! One could tell so easily that a lady of taste and refinement presided over it. The fine old oak was not covered, but contrasting with it were thick, crimson rugs, hangings of crimson velvet, and it was relieved by any amount of flowers; beautiful pictures were hung with exquisite taste; white statues stood out in grand relief against the dark walls.
"Your wife is a woman of taste, that is quite evident, Lance," I said.
My own room—a spacious chamber called the Blue Chamber—a large, old-fashioned room with three windows, each window seat as large as a small room; the hangings were of blue and white; there were a few jardinieres with costly, odorous flowers; easy chairs, a comfortable couch. Little stands had been placed with easy chairs in the window seats; the room looked as though bluebells had been strewn with a liberal hand on white ground.
"How beautiful!" I cried; "I shall never want to leave this room again, Lance."
"I wish you would stay and never leave us; I am happy enough in having Frances; if I had you as well, my happiness would be complete. You have all you want, John; I will send your portmanteau."
When Lance had gone I looked round my room and fell in love with it. It had the charm of old fashion, of elegance, of space, of height, and from the windows there was a magnificent view of the park and the gardens.
"Lance must indeed be a happy man." I thought to myself.
He came to me when I was dressed and we went out for a stroll through the gardens.
"We shall hear the dinner-bell," said Lance. "We will not go too far."
We saw the stately equipage of Lady Ledbitter driven down the avenue.