"That's as may be sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, with a sniff, "but it ain't my taste, nor yet I don't think it will be Rapkin's taste when he comes to see it."
It was not Ventimore's taste either, though he was not going to confess it. "Sorry for that, Mrs. Rapkin," he said, "but I've no time to talk about it now. I must rush upstairs and dress."
"Begging your pardon, sir, but that's a total unpossibility—for they've been and took away the staircase.'
"Taken away the staircase? Nonsense!" cried Horace.
"So I think, Mr. Ventimore—but it's what them men have done, and if you don't believe me, come and see for yourself!"
She drew the hangings aside, and revealed to Ventimore's astonished gaze a vast pillared hall with a lofty domed roof, from which hung several lamps, diffusing a subdued radiance. High up in the wall, on his left, were the two windows which he judged to have formerly belonged to his sitting-room (for either from delicacy or inability, or simply because it had not occurred to him, the Jinnee had not interfered with the external structure), but the windows were now masked by a perforated and gilded lattice, which accounted for the pattern Horace had noticed from without. The walls were covered with blue-and-white Oriental tiles, and a raised platform of alabaster on which were divans ran round two sides of the hall, while the side opposite to him was pierced with horseshoe-shaped arches, apparently leading to other apartments. The centre of the marble floor was spread with costly rugs and piles of cushions, their rich hues glowing through the gold with which they were intricately embroidered.
"Well," said the unhappy Horace, scarcely knowing what he was saying, "it—it all looks very cosy, Mrs. Rapkin."
"It's not for me to say, sir; but I should like to know where you thought of dining?"
"Where?" said Horace. "Why, here, of course. There's plenty of room."
"There isn't a table left in the house," said Mrs. Rapkin; "so, unless you'd wish the cloth laid on the floor——"