At times his brougham waited before it for hours, and, at others,
he appeared on foot and lifted the heavy knocker with a special
accustomed knock recognized at once by any footman in waiting in
the hall, who, hearing it, knew that his mistress--the old Dowager
Duchess of Darte--would receive this visitor, if no other.
The interior of the house was of the type which, having from the
first been massive and richly sombre, had mellowed into a darker
sombreness and richness as it had stood unmoved amid London years
and fogs. The grandeur of decoration and furnishing had been too
solid to depreciate through decay, and its owner had been of no
fickle mind led to waver in taste by whims of fashion. The rooms
were huge and lofty, the halls and stairways spacious, the fireplaces
furnished with immense grates of glittering steel, which held in
winter beds of scarlet glowing coal, kept scarlet glowing by a
special footman whose being, so to speak, depended on his fidelity
to his task.
There were many rooms whose doors were kept closed because they
were apparently never used; there were others as little used but
thrown open, warmed and brightened with flowers each day, because
the Duchess chose to catch glimpses of their cheerfulness as she
passed them on her way up or downstairs. The house was her own
property, and, after her widowhood, when it was emptied of her
children by their admirable marriages, and she herself became Dowager
and, later, a confirmed rheumatic invalid, it became doubly her
home and was governed by her slightest whim.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241