“I know very well what style it’s in,” retorted Wolf, as he opened the door; “but don’t be worried. I’ll use Darnley’s.”

It was indeed with a curious relief that he found himself in his friend’s room. How refreshingly bare it was! The dressing-gown hanging on a nail upon the door, the three pairs of boots placed in a neat row at the bed’s head, the grey schoolmaster’s-suit carefully folded upon a chair⁠—all these objects, combined with the faint sea-sand smell that came from the enormous sponge upon the washing-stand, brought to Wolf as he stood among them, washing his hands with Windsor soap, a wholesome and liberating peace.

He, a man, was in a man’s fortress, a man’s retreat! How cool and quiet did that strip of uncarpeted floor look, with the beautiful blue light lying upon it! How reassuring was the great flat tin bath propped up against the wall!