“Yes—please.”
She held out a box of cigarettes. The butler went out of the room.
“I love this house,” said Craven abruptly. “I love its atmosphere.”
“It isn’t a modern atmosphere, is it?”
“Neither distinctively modern, nor in the least old-fashioned. I think the right adjective for it would be perhaps—”
He paused and sat silent for a moment.
“I hardly know. There’s something remote, distinguished and yet very warm and intimate about it.”
He looked at her and added, almost with hardihood.
“It’s not a cold, or even a reserved house.”
“Coldness and unnecessary reserve are tiresome—indeed, I might almost say abhorrent—to me.”