"This is our dining-room," she said proudly. "Walk in, Madame. It is 'ere we had better 'ave tea, perhaps."
Sylvia followed her. How dark, and how very hot it was in here! She could see absolutely nothing for some moments, for she was blinded by the sudden change from the bright light of the hall to the dim twilight of the closely-shuttered room.
Then gradually she began to see everything—or rather the little there was to be seen—and she felt surprised, and a little disappointed.
The dining-room was more than plainly furnished; it was positively ugly.
The furniture consisted of a round table standing on an unpolished parquet floor, of six cane chairs set against the wall, and of a walnut-wood buffet, on the shelves of which stood no plates, or ornaments of any description. The walls were distempered a reddish-pink colour, and here and there the colour had run in streaky patches.
"Is it not charming?" exclaimed Madame Wachner. "And now I will show you our pretty little salon!"
Sylvia followed her out into the hall, and so to the left into the short passage which ran down the centre of the tiny house.
The drawing-room of the Châlet des Muguets was a little larger than the dining-room, but it was equally bare of anything pretty or even convenient. There was a small sofa, covered with cheap tapestry, and four uncomfortable-looking chairs to match; on the sham marble mantelpiece stood a gilt and glass clock and two chandeliers. There was not a book, not a paper, not a flower.
Both rooms gave Sylvia a strange impression that they
