'Welcome!' said Sir Christopher. 'Come in. Let me help to lift it. What a beautiful tree!'
'It is rather decent, isn't it?' said Guy dispassionately.
Sir Christopher raised the pot, carried it in, and the door was shut. The children found themselves in a small square hall. A winding staircase of iron corkscrewed upwards in one corner. The hall was lighted only by two candles.
The old gentleman led the way through a door on the right into a round room with white walls.
'We're inside the tower now,' said Guy.
'Yes,' said their host, 'this is part of the tower.'
He hastily lighted a big lamp, and then a deep 'Oh!' broke from the children. For the walls were not white, they were all of mother-of-pearl, and here and there all over the walls round pearls shone with a starry, milky radiance.
'How radishing!' said Mabel in a whisper. 'I always said he wasn't a miser. He's a magician.'
'What a lovely, lovely room!' sighed Phyllis.
'What's it made of?' asked Guy downrightly.