She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the top of them, in the third story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off the hall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches and lit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a little bit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered with books and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, a trunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and a rocking-chair, about filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs. Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him.
"I should never dream of pitying the person who can be contented here," he said.
"Why?"
"The mental composition must be so admirable! I suppose you have another corner, where to sleep?"
"Yes," she said, smiling; "the other little room like this at the other end of the hall. I preferred this arrangement to having one larger room where I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to get rid of. Now tell me more about the forests of Maine. I have always had a curiosity about that portion of the country."
He did gratify her for a while; told of his travels, and camping out; and of his hunting and fishing; and of the lovely scenery of the lakes and hills. He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, and he had explored the waters in 'birches;' and he told of odd specimens of humanity he had found on his way; but after a while of this talk Philip came suddenly back to his starting point.
"Mrs. Barclay, you are not comfortable here?"
"As well as I can expect," she said, in her quiet, sad manner. The sadness was not obtrusive, not on the surface; it was only the background to everything.
"But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you with pity, mind; but I am thinking. Would you not like better to be in the country? in some pleasant place?"
"You do not call this a pleasant place?" she said, with her faint smile. "Now I do. When I get up here, and shut the door, I am my own mistress."