"Really?" He showed his intense pleasure in this tribute. "Come," he said, "I have got a new piano to show you."
They went together down the passage to the door of her own sitting-room, now, needless to say, unlocked. They passed in; and Gaunt thought himself overpaid for anything he had ever suffered when he heard her first "O-o-oh!" of surprise and pleasure.
The ivory room lay in warm light. The fire danced on the hearth; and upon the pale blue, rose-garlanded hearth-rug lay Cosmo and Damian, with bows to match their surroundings.
The graceful, wine-dark furniture gleamed in the mellow lamp-light. Every piece in the room was perfection in its way. There was a Chesterfield in just the right place, at right angles to the fire. Beside it, a small revolving table book-case alone struck a note of frank modernity, and needed but the books and work to complete it.
"You like it?" he asked, trying to mask his eager wistfulness.
"I should think so! You never told me a word! You had this all done! Oh, how curious!" she murmured in wonder, recalling with a shock the dream which she had dreamt—how she had sought in vain for the old furniture in the attic, and going into this room where she now stood had seen it full of formless whiteness.
"Why do you call it curious?" he asked.
"Because I dreamt about it," she answered, laughing shamefacedly. "I dreamt that I had come back, and was looking for you—that I was up in the attics and could not find this furniture—and that when I came downstairs, this room was empty and all white and ghostly——"
"Did you succeed in finding me—in your dream?"
"Yes." She laughed again. "But it was all stupid—you know dreams are. Oh, what a darling piano! And that fine old book-cupboard with glass doors! A secretaire—isn't that the proper name for it?"