For all that, the encroaching town had not yet reached the neighborhood, and the windows commanded a pleasant view of clean rolling country and the blue Welsh hills.
Cartwright felt the house was a snug harbor where he could rest when he was too old and battered to front the storms that had for some time been gathering, and sitting by the fire one evening, he speculated about the rocks and shoals ahead.

All the same, the time to run for shelter was not yet; he thought he could ride out another gale.
An arch with heavy molding occupied the middle of the spacious room.

The folding doors had been removed and curtains partly screened the arch.

On the other side, a group of young men and women stood about the piano.

On Cartwright's side the lights were low.