Stuart followed the man assigned as his valet to the electric elevator and in a minute stepped out on the fourth floor. He observed with a smile that his room number was 157.
"The idea of living in a huge hotel and calling it a home!" he mused, with grim humour. "Room 157; great Scott!"
His hostess showed him first the library. The magnificent room contained more than forty thousand volumes, bound in hand-tooled morocco.
"The funny thing, of course," Nan whispered, "is that Cal has never read one of these exquisitely bound books."
"Why on earth did he make this room the most stately and beautiful one in the house?"
"Maybe he didn't!" she laughed. "I'm going to give you a privilege no mere man has ever enjoyed in this house before—I am going to show you my own rooms. Will you appreciate the honour?"
The man answered with a bantering smile.
"If I live to tell the story!"
When the tour of inspection had been completed she led him to her own suite, which was located in the south-western corner, overlooking the magnificent formal gardens with their artificial lake, fountains, statuary and a wilderness of flowers, and farther on over the beautiful valleys of the Swannanoa and the French Broad rivers. Beyond the river valleys rose range after range of mountains until the last dim peaks were lost in the clouds.
The magnificence of her bed-room was stunning. Stuart rubbed his eyes in amazement.