Tea was ready in the shade of a promising copper beech,
and I could see groups on the lawn of young men and maidens
appropriately clothed, playing lawn tennis in the sunshine.
"A pretty scene, ain't it?" said Mr. M'Leod. "My good lady's
sitting under the tree, and that's my little girl in pink on the
far court. But I'll take you to your room, and you can see 'em
all later."
He led me through a wide parquet-floored hall furnished in pale
lemon, with huge Cloisonnee vases, an ebonized and gold grand
piano, and banks of pot flowers in Benares brass bowls, up a pale
oak staircase to a spacious landing, where there was a green
velvet settee trimmed with silver. The blinds were down, and the
light lay in parallel lines on the floors.
He showed me my room, saying cheerfully: "You may be a little
tired. One often is without knowing it after a run through
traffic. Don't come down till you feel quite restored. We shall
all be in the garden."
My room was rather warm, and smelt of perfumed soap.
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