Mrs. Jose now announced herself, and informed the domestic that she believed she was expected, and inquired whether Mrs. Tomkin-Jones and the young ladies were at home.
The servant postponed the commission with the letters, and led the way to the drawing-room on the first floor, up a narrow and steep staircase. Mrs. Jose followed, treading lightly as if dancing among eggs, and Winefred mounted after her.
They were shown into the drawing-room, an apartment that had a window into the square, and smelt of carpet cleaned with ox-gall.
The paper was drab, with bunches of flowers on it; and the curtains were of a heavy green, and looked as if they had been dyed. They were protected against the sun by a second set of curtains of muslin.
The chairs and sofa were encased in chintz tied about the legs; and the looking-glass frame above the mantelshelf was enveloped in yellow gauze. At each end of the shelf stood a candlestick of brass hung with cut-glass prisms, some chipped, one missing. Next to these, on the inside, were two vases filled with spills of twisted coloured paper; and in the middle was a French ormolu clock, under a glass shade, that did not go, and was surmounted by cast figures representing the Flight into Egypt.
The circular rosewood table that occupied the centre of the room had on it a posy of shell-flowers under a glass bell; and mats of coloured wool and steel beads—these latter somewhat rusted—were dispersed over the table to receive nothing in particular. A few books radiated from the bunch of shell flowers, selected to lie on the table, not on account of their contents, but because of the gilding on their covers. The chairs in the room also radiated from the posy at set intervals.
The fire was laid, but not lighted. The fire-irons were highly polished, but apparently never used. In a dark nook lurked a meagre little poker of black iron that was employed when the fire was alight and needed stirring. The blinds were drawn when Mrs. Jose and Winefred entered, but the maid drew them up partially, not wholly, lest too much light should enter and take some of the dye out of the dismal curtains.
The carpet, recently relaid after cleaning, represented sprays of seaweed floating on the surface of the bottle-green deep among sprigs of coral forming rococo octagons.
Mrs. Jose seated herself timorously at the edge of a chair, and looked around her with an expression of mingled awe and pride.
Presently she pointed at the shell flowers, and said with bated breath, 'Wonderful, are they not? That I call a real work of art. Must have cost pounds. Just fancy, all shells, not real flowers. Tell me, dear, do I look very hot?' Satisfied that she was not overheated, Mrs. Jose's eyes rambled about the room, then fell on the floor.