A pink door stopped him at last.

It might have hid mysterious and questionable things, but it said laconically 'Push,' and he courageously pushed...

He was in a kind of boudoir thickly populated with tables and chairs.

The swift transmigration from the blatant street to a drawing-room had a startling effect on him: it caused him to whip off his hat as though his hat had been red hot.

Except for two tall elegant creatures who stood together at the other end of the boudoir, the chairs and tables had the place to themselves.