His mother greeted him in the highest feather. Laughing and jesting, she showed him the kitchen, the scullery, the sanitary arrangements, the furniture. “The rooms are empty upstairs,” she said; “but do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to leave Herbert-land, with its dust and its smells, and move over here! I’m going to use one of my waitresses⁠—I’ve got two, you know⁠—as a maid. She and I will both sleep up there. There are three rooms. And I’ll have a regular drawing-room. I’ll have the kind of drawing-room I’ve always wanted⁠—different altogether from that old place in town.”

Mother and son were now seated on two immaculate wicker-chairs. Wolf had not yet dared to light a cigarette; but Mrs. Solent, with a quick, radiant gesture, offered him one of her own.

“You won’t get enough exercise, mother, if you live where you work; and your precious drawing-room will always be full of the smell of cooking.”