The visit was a difficult one, and was made still more so by the committee not finding Mr. Dean in the grounds as they had hoped to do, and thus being obliged to walk deliberately up the steps and ring the bell.
Mr. Dean looked down on them with some surprise, and Margery said faintly:
"We've come to call on you, sir, as you asked us."
"Oh, yes; we've met before," said Mr. Dean, recognizing Trix's black eyes, and laughing as he remembered the plight from which he had rescued her. "I am very glad to see you and so I am sure will Sheila be. Will you kindly walk into my parlor, like four pleasant flies, though I think I am not a spider."
The children thanked him, and followed him into the old house. The parlor was darkened, and their host went to the window and threw open the blind. The light revealed a room furnished in the taste of more than fifty years ago. Haircloth chairs were ranged at intervals around the walls, a carpet strewn with immense roses covered the floor, and the wall-paper in panels representing a tiger hunt so fascinated Jack's wondering gaze that he became quite lost in its contemplation. Margery had perched herself on the haircloth sofa, which was so slippery that she had to hold herself on by the bolster-like ends, for her feet did not nearly reach the floor. She rejoiced when she was rescued from her precarious situation by their host turning from the window with the words:
"My name is Robert Dean. Will you please tell me yours, that we may begin properly?"
All the others looked toward Margery, feeling that as it was her expedition, it was for her to do the honors.
Margery gladly slipped down on her feet.
"This is Beatrice Lane; we call her Trix," she began.