Supper was laid for me in the dining-room; this room I did not know, not a bit. Perhaps, after all, thought I, the whole thing is a mistake, a fancy. If I had been here before I ought to recognise the dining-room of all rooms. Then a thought struck me, and I asked the maid servant who was waiting—
"Has this room always formed part of the house; I mean, has it always been used as a dining-room?"
"Oh no, ma'am, it was built by Mr Arthur."
"Added on to the house?"
"Yes, ma'am."
That sounded queer, didn't it?
"How long ago was it built?"
"About sixty years I believe, ma'am."
Sixty years, oh, I was riding with that falcon on my wrist ages before that. Do you know that the fact of my not recognising this room impressed me more than the fact of my having recognised all the other things?
After supper I was sitting at the table thinking, when I heard someone softly entering the room behind me. I turned and saw the butler with white hair; he held a book in his hand.