She thrust her hand eagerly into his. "I shall love that. Which way do we go?"
"Through the music-room," said Bunny.
He caught and held her hand. They ran up one of the wide stairways that branched north and south to the Gallery. Saltash's music followed them from the drawing-room as they went. He was playing a haunting Spanish love-song, and Toby shivered and quickened her pace.
They reached another oak door which Bunny opened, drawing her impetuously forward. "This is Charlie's own particular sanctum. Rather a ripping place, isn't it? He's got a secret den that leads somewhere out of it, but no one knows how to get in."
He led her over a polished oak floor into a long, almost empty apartment with turreted windows at each end, and a grand piano near one of them that shone darkly in the shaded lamplight. Underfoot were Persian rugs, exquisite of tint and rich of texture. Two or three deep divans completed the furniture of the room giving it a look of Eastern magnificence that strangely lured the senses.
"Rather like a harem I always think," said Bunny, pausing to look round. "There's an Arabian Nights sort of flavour about it that rather gets hold of one. Why? You're shivering! Surely you're not cold!"
"No, I'm not cold," said Toby. "But I don't like this place. It's creepy.
Let's go!"
But Bunny lingered. "What's the matter with it? It's luxurious enough.
I've always rather liked coming in here."
Toby made a small but vehement gesture of protest. "Then you like horrid things," she said. "There's no air in here;—only—only—scent."
Bunny sniffed. "Well, it's quite subtle anyhow; not enough to upset anybody. Rather a seductive perfume, what?"