We dine at half-past eight." Sir Timothy disappeared with a courteous little inclination of the head.
Francis dismissed the manservant at once as being out of keeping with his quaint and fascinating surroundings.

The tiny room with its flowers, its perfume of lavender, its old-fashioned chintzes, and its fragrant linen, might still have been a room in a cottage.

The sitting-room, with its veranda looking down upon the river, was provided with cigars, whisky and soda and cigarettes; a bookcase, with a rare copy of Rabelais, an original Surtees, a large paper Decameron, and a few other classics.

Down another couple of steps was a perfectly white bathroom, with shower and plunge.

Francis wandered from room to room, and finally threw himself into a chair on the veranda to smoke a cigarette.