The housekeeper opened the door to them, and remarked that the fires never drew right in that wind. They switched on the electric light and walked about in a somewhat smoky atmosphere with their coats still on, looking hopefully into the strange rooms which enigmatically awaited their scrutiny; comfortably furnished rooms, clothed in chintz and good velour, well lighted and uncluttered with cast-off belongings of the family. Bella sniffed and scrabbled in the corners, and Aunt Effie said it really wasn’t bad, and Sabrina—Sabrina shook and shivered like a little racehorse at the post as she crossed the threshold.

Home.

A spacious hall, with a wide oak staircase rising from its middle. Paneled walls, rather gloomy. Two big drawing-rooms, one opening into the garden, and a library which was already Father’s own exclusive sacred den. A long dining-room opening off the back of the hall, with family portraits and a cold white marble mantelpiece. The kitchens and so forth lay beyond it. Upstairs, a central passage with rooms off either side. Nine bedrooms. Aunt Effie, popping open doors, muttering busily to herself, efficiently questioning the housekeeper, while Bella pattered at her heels, gave Sabrina her choice of two. The first one had blue-and-white flowered wallpaper and chintzes, a window seat with a long view down the garden in blue twilight, a four-poster bed with chintz hangings – Sabrina drew a long sigh and pulled off her hat and tossed it into the armchair beside the dressing table. “This is it,” she said simply, and for some childish reason she could not understand there was a lump in her throat and she wanted to cry.

“Well, just as you like, dear—Jennie will bring up your bag in a few minutes. Jennie is the housemaid,” said Aunt Effie, and bustled away.

Sabrina walked over and pulled the chain of the bedside lamp, which cast an amber glow across the plump bolster. A book lay on the little table beneath it—just a novel, not very new, but suitable for reading in bed, as though the room had been expecting her. There were more books in built-in shelves beyond the bed. There was a writing-table, stocked with notepaper and pens and ink. Blue glass toilet things.... Her room. Waiting for her. With a coal fire grate, and everything laid ready for the match. Her own coal fire in her own room....

Aunt Effie put her head in at the open door.

“You and I will use the bathroom at the end of the passage,” she said. “Opposite the upper stairs. Father can have the one next door to the big bedroom, all to himself. That will save trouble,” she added darkly. “I’ll be just across from you, in the green room. Come, Bella, we’ll find a place for your basket now.” She vanished again.