He calls it his den. But you will agree that library
sounds better."
Desire went in--with the other rooms she had been content to stand
in the doors--and, as she entered, the room seemed to draw round and
welcome her. It was deeply and happily familiar--that shallow,
rounded window from which one could lean and touch the grass out-
side, that dark, old desk with its leather and brass, that blue bowl
on the corner of the mantel-piece, the lazy, yet expectant, chairs;
even the beech tree whose light fingers tapped upon the window
glass! It was all part of her life, past or future--somewhere.
"You see," said Aunt Caroline in her character of showman, "we have
fireplaces!"
Desire was so used to fireplaces that this did not seem
extraordinary and yet, from Aunt Caroline's tone, she knew that it
must be, and tried to look impressed.
"They are dirty," went on Aunt Caroline, "but they are worth it.
They give atmosphere. If you have a house like this, you have to
have fireplaces. That is what I tell my maids when I engage them. So
that they cannot grumble afterwards. Fireplaces are dirty, I tell
them, but--what are you staring at, my dear?"
"Was I staring? I didn't know. It is just that I seem to know it
all."
Aunt Caroline looked wise. "Oh, yes. I know what you mean. Benis
explains that curious feeling--some-thing about your right sphere or
something being larger than your left, or quicker, I forget which.
Not that I can see any sense in it, anyway.
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