I turned the knob and went in without waiting for a summons.
The Mathers's parlor is a long cool dim room with old-fashioned mahogany furniture and jars of roses scattered about.

It was so dark after the bright sunshine of the rest of the house, that for a moment I didn't discover the occupants until the sound of Polly's sobbing proclaimed their whereabouts.

I was somewhat taken aback to find her sitting in a corner of the big horsehair sofa, her head buried in the cushions, while Terry, nonchalantly leaning back in his chair, regarded her with much the expression that he might have worn at a "first night" at the theatre.

It might also be noted that Polly wore a white dress with a big bunch of roses in her belt, that her hair was becomingly rumpled by the cushion, and that she was not crying hard enough to make her eyes red.
"Hello, old man!" said Terry and I fancied that his tone was not entirely cordial.

"Just sit down and listen to this.