“Yes indeed!” George answered with alacrity. He thought that if he must sustain the conversation for five minutes longer, it would be a relief to be among things he understood. Tom Craik rose and led the way through the alabaster door by which he had entered. George found himself in a spacious apartment, consisting of two rooms which had been thrown into one by building an arch in the place of the former wall of division. There were no windows, but each division was lighted by a large skylight of stained glass, supported on old Bohemian iron-work. To the height of six feet from the floor, the walls were lined with bookcases, the books being protected by glass. Above these the walls were completely covered with tapestries, stuffs, weapons, old plates and similar objects.
“Favourite room of mine,” remarked Mr. Craik, backing up to the great wood fire, and looking about him with side glances, first to the right and then to the left. “Look about you, look about you. A lot of books in those shelves, eh? Well, well. About three thousand. Not many but good and good, as books should be, inside and out. Eh? Like that?”
“Yes,” said George, moving slowly round the room, stooping and then standing erect, as he glanced rapidly at the titles of the long rows of volumes. The born man of letters warmed at the sight of the familiar names and felt less inimically inclined towards the master of the house.
“I envy you such books to read and such a place in which to read them,” he said at last.
“I believe you do,” answered Mr. Craik, looking pleased. “You look as if you did. Well, well. May be all yours some day.”
“How so?” George inquired, growing suddenly cold and looking sharply at the old man.
“May leave everything to Totty. Totty may leave everything to Mamie. Fact is, any station may be the last. May have to hand in my checks at any time. Funny world, isn’t it? Eh?”
“A very humorous and comic world, as you say,” George answered, looking at the old man with a rather scornful twist of his naturally scornful mouth.
“Humorous and comic? I say, funny. It’s shorter. What would you do if you owned this house?”
“I would sell it,” George answered with a dry laugh, “sell it, except the books, and live on the interest of the proceeds.”