“This is a home-y room, I think,” the Doctor said, looking round it with satisfaction. “The drawing-room is too big and gorgeous for ordinary use: I’m afraid of it. Later on I may become brave enough to go into it, but it needs to be furnished with dozens of people. Oh, well, perhaps that can be arranged in time. Now come and see where the wild beasts lived.”
There were no grim beasts and reptiles now. Instead, the room was bare, with a shining new floor—a floor that instinctively made one’s feet long to dance. There was a little stage at one end for musicians: big couches near the walls, where hung some fine old paintings. A double door opened into a long conservatory. And that was all.
“Oh, what a ballroom!” Madge cried.
“Will it do?” he said.
“I should think it will! Isn’t it just perfect, Doris?”
“It is, indeed,” I said. “Do ask us to come when you give a ball, Dr. Firth.”
“I will—if you will promise to give me the first dance. After that I’ll let the youngsters have a chance, and take my place meekly with the aged; but the first dance is my perquisite. Now I want to show you some other rooms. Is she strong enough for the stairs, do you think, Colin?”
“Not to be thought of, with groggy knees!” said my brother. He picked me up as if I were a baby and strode upstairs with me, disregarding my protests.
“Yes, you’re putting on a little weight,” he said, setting me gently on the landing. “Nothing to speak of, of course, but you’re rather more noticeable to carry than you were a week ago—upstairs, at any rate. Where next, sir?”
“Here,” said the Doctor.