A space had been swept clear upon the larger table for a typewriter, a telephone instrument stood against the wall.

A man whose likeness to Felicia was at once apparent, swung round in his chair as Hunterleys entered.

He had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his trousers seemed smothered with dust.
"Regular newspaper correspondent's den," Hunterleys remarked, as he looked around him.

"I never saw such a mess in my life.

I wonder Felicia allows it." "We don't let her come in," her brother chuckled.