CHAPTER I
UNDER THE WAGGON-ROOF. A DINNER IN BRYANSTONE SQUARE
"Le véritable Amphitryon est l'Amphitryon où l'on dine."
—Molière.
It was a warm night in July when Mr. Amberley, the publisher, entertained a few friends at dinner to meet Gilbert Lothian, the poet.
Although the evening was extremely sultry and the houses of the West End were radiating the heat which they had stored up from the sun-rays during the day, Mr. Amberley's dining room was deliciously cool.
The house was one of those roomy old-fashioned places still to be found unspoiled in Bryanstone Square, and the dining room, especially, was notable. It was on the first floor, over-looking the square, a long and lofty room with a magnificent waggon-roof which was the envy of every one who saw it, and gave the place extraordinary distinction.
The walls were panelled with oak, which had been stained a curious green, that was not olive nor ash-green but partook of both—the veritable colour, indeed, of the grey-green olive trees that one sees on some terrace of the Italian Alps at dawn.
The pictures were very few, considering the size of the room, and they were all quite modern—"In the movement"—as shrewd Mr. Amberley was himself.