CHAPTER XVIII. — A COMPACT.
Mr. Hartrick, still holding Nora's hand, took her down a corridor, and the next moment they found themselves in a large room, with oak bookcases and lined with oak throughout; but it was a stately sort of apartment, and it oppressed the girl as much as the rest of the house had done.
“I had thought,” she murmured inwardly, “that his study would be a little bare. I cannot think how he can stand such closeness, so much furniture.” She sighed as the thought came to her.
“More and more sighs, my little Irish girl,” said Mr. Hartrick. “Why, what is the matter with you?”
“I cannot breathe; but I'll soon get accustomed to it,” said Nora.
“Cannot breathe? Are you subject to asthma, my dear?”
“Oh, no, no; but there is so much furniture, and I am accustomed to so little.”
“All right, Nora; but now you must pull yourself together, and try to be broad-minded enough to take us English folk as we are. We are not wild; we are civilized. Our houses are not bare; but I presume you must consider them comfortable.”
“Oh, yes,” said Nora; “yes.”