She had never been so happy in all her life.
A dismal little waiter with a very soiled shirt and a black tie under his ear, guided them down into a dark passage and flung open the door of a sitting-room.

This room was dark and sizzling with strange noises; a gas-jet burning low was hissing, some papers rustled in the breeze from the half-opened window, and a fire, overburdened with the weight of black coal, made frantic little spurts of resistance.
A white cloth was laid on the table, and there were glasses and knives and forks.

A highly-coloured portrait of her late Majesty Queen Victoria confronted a long-legged horse desperately winning a race in which he had apparently no competitors.

There was a wall-paper of imitation marble and a broken-down book-case with some torn paper editions languishing upon it.

Beyond the open window there was a purple haze and a yellow mist--also a bell rang and carts rattled over the cobbles.