He rose from his chair and led the way into another room where lamps were lit, though there was still much light outside, and a clear fire burning.
“How stupid of me not to notice the sun was setting. I thought when first I saw it it was rising.”
“That is a common mistake, much commoner than you’d think, with those coming from Lucifram. You see, it is the direct turnabout, and it is apt to muddle one at first.”
“Yes, indeed. What lovely flowers!”
Rosalie was looking at the pretty supper-table and its exquisite decorations. There was something so pure and delicate and delicious about everything, from the snowy linen and flowers all white and flaxen coloured, to the china and vessels of silver and crystal glass. Moreover, there was no shadow lying here. One might eat in happiness and sweet contentment, and the thankfulness born of these.
And moreover, she did not sit down alone. Her host took his place at the head of the small square table, she to the side of him. Every dish was ready served. But first he offered her a little glass of purest sparkling water. Rosalie drank it. The intense fatigue had vanished almost on the instant. She made no effort to talk much, for he said nothing, but ate her supper in silence. Then at last he rose.
“I will show you to your room,” he said. “Billy has gone home; he only stayed to welcome you.”
“I thought he was your son?”
“So he is. But this is not my home. It is but a temporary lodging, conveniently situated for business purposes.”
“Does no one else live here?”