It was First Empire, and on
the pin-cushion, lying on the ornate dressing-table, someone had written
in a fine Italian hand on an envelope, the words: "This room was
furnished from Paris in 1810. The bed is a replica of a bed made for the
Empress Josephine."
They went on through many of the rooms on the upper floor, full to-day of
still, sunny late autumn charm.
Radmore scarcely spoke at all during their curious progress through the
empty house, and Betty still felt as if in a dream. She had asked herself
again and again if he could really be thinking of buying this stately
mansion.
The mere possibility of such a thing meant that he must be thinking of
marrying Mrs. Crofton, and also that he must be much richer than any of
them knew.
At last they came down a wide staircase which terminated in a corridor
leading into the circular hall, and then it was Betty who broke what was
becoming an oppressive silence:
"Shall we go on and see the kitchen and the servants' quarters, Godfrey?"
"No; they're sure to be all right."
Again came what seemed to Betty a long, unnatural silence.
"Do you really like the house?" he asked at last.
"I like it very much," she said frankly.
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