Pinkey's visions of grandeur fled at the sight.
The rooms were small, and a sour smell hung on the air, the peculiar odour of servants' rooms where ventilation is unknown.

Pinkey recognized the curtains and drapes at a glance, the pick of a suburban rag-shop.

One room was as bare as a prison cell, merely a place to sleep in, but the next was royally furnished with a wardrobe, toilet-table, and washstand, solid and old-fashioned like the generation it had outlived.

By its look it had descended in regular stages from the bedrooms of the family to the casual guests' room and then to the servants.

But Pinkey had seen nothing so beautiful at home, and her heart swelled at the thought of possessing such genteel furniture.