A Dorset Chronicle

“So this is to be your room,” said Mrs. Otter. “I knew you’d want to see it at once; as you have to dress, of course, for dining at the House? It’s not large, but I think it’s rather comfortable. My son Jason said only just now that he felt quite envious of it. His own room is just opposite, looking on the back garden, as yours does on the front. I think we might show him Jason’s room, don’t you, Darnley? It’s so very characteristic! At least we try to keep it so, don’t we, Darnley? Darnley and I do it ourselves, when he’s out.” Her voice, as the two men stood in the doorway staring at Solent’s pieces of shabby luggage, which they had just carried in, sank into a confidential whisper. “He’s out now,” she added. They both moved aside as she proceeded to make her way across the small passage. “There!” she exclaimed, opening a door; and Wolf peered into complete and rather stuffy darkness. “There! Perhaps you have a match, Darnley?”

Darnley obediently struck a match and proceeded to set alight two ornate candles that stood on a chest of drawers. The whole look of the chamber thus revealed, was detestable to the visitor.