"Won't you sit down?"
Lady Rossiter glanced slowly round the room.
It was a large light office, the window thrown open and looking on to the square paved court at the back of the house; the furniture scanty and of the most utilitarian description.
Miss Marchrose's writing-table was orderly, although papers were stacked upon it in wicker trays. A telephone with a glass mouthpiece stood at one corner and an electric reading-lamp at the other.
The typewriter had a very small table to itself, and a high chair with a small cushion placed in front of it. Except for three or four chairs and a strip of carpet, there was no other furniture in the room.
"I've not seen this room furnished before," Edna Rossiter observed. "You've hardly had time for the finishing touches yet, though, have you?"
Her tone was that of assertion, not of enquiry, but Miss Marchrose replied as though to a question.
"I'm afraid there isn't anything more to come. Mr. Fuller has kindly let me have everything I want."
"Even to a glass mouthpiece for the telephone?" enquired Edna smoothly.
A similar adornment distinguished her own telephone in the boudoir at Culmhayes, and Julian knew that his wife frequently drew attention to it by apologies for her own fastidiousness.