By the fireside stood a great leather chair, deep, high-backed, wondrously self-assertive over against the creaky cane seat which before had dominated the room.

Against the wall was a high bookcase, where Hilliard's volumes, previously piled on the floor, stood in loose array; and above the mantelpiece hung a framed engraving of the Parthenon.
"This is dreadful extravagance!" she exclaimed, pausing at the threshold, and eying her welcomer with mock reproof.
"It is, but not on my part.

The things came a day or two ago, simply addressed to me from shops." "Who was the giver, then ?" "Must be Narramore, of course.

He was here not long ago, and growled a good deal because I hadn't a decent chair for his lazy bones." "I am much obliged to him," said Eve, as she sank back in the seat of luxurious repose.

"You ought to hang his portrait in the room.