We went up the stairs, which were steep and old-fashioned, with a landing-place almost like a little room.

My room was in a wing of the house, over the dining-room, and the windows looked out on the river.

It was not large, but was very pretty.

The windows were curtained, and the bed was dainty, and the little mantel was draped, and the ornaments and pictures were quaint and delightful to my taste.
Sophie laid the shawls she had been carrying up for me upon the bed, and said she hoped I would find everything I needed, and would try to feel entirely at home, and not hesitate to ask for anything that would make me comfortable.
Nothing could be kinder, but my affection and gratitude were fast dying out, and I was quite sure of one thing, namely, that I never should love Sophie if she spent her life in inviting me to pay her visits.

She told me that tea would be ready in half an hour, and then left me.