He had
assumed his fur coat, to guard against the draughts of the unfinished
house.
The staircase--he said--was handsome! the baronial style! They would
want some statuary about! He came to a standstill between the columns of
the doorway into the inner court, and held out his cane inquiringly.
What was this to be--this vestibule, or whatever they called it? But
gazing at the skylight, inspiration came to him.
"Ah! the billiard-room!"
When told it was to be a tiled court with plants in the centre, he
turned to Irene:
"Waste this on plants? You take my advice and have a billiard table
here!"
Irene smiled. She had lifted her veil, banding it like a nun's coif
across her forehead, and the smile of her dark eyes below this seemed to
Swithin more charming than ever. He nodded. She would take his advice he
saw.
He had little to say of the drawing or dining-rooms, which he described
as "spacious"; but fell into such raptures as he permitted to a man of
his dignity, in the wine-cellar, to which he descended by stone steps,
Bosinney going first with a light.
"You'll have room here," he said, "for six or seven hundred dozen--a
very pooty little cellar!"
Bosinney having expressed the wish to show them the house from the copse
below, Swithin came to a stop.
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