And what a day it was, for everything and everybody concerned! First the Strata² itself: from Dong Ling's kitchen in the basement to Cyril's domain³ on the top floor, the house was as spick-and-span as Pete's eager old hands could make it. In the drawing-room and in Bertram's den⁴ and studio, great clusters of pink roses perfumed the air, and brightened the sombre richness of the old-time furnishings. Before the open fire in the den a sleek⁵ gray cat—adorned with a huge ribbon bow the exact shade of the roses (Bertram had seen to that!)—winked and blinked sleepy yellow eyes. In Bertram's studio the latest “Face of a Girl” had made way for a group of canvases and plaques⁶, every one of which showed Billy Neilson in one pose or another. Up-stairs, where William's chaos⁷ of treasures filled shelves and cabinets, the place of honor was given to a small black velvet⁸ square on which rested a pair of quaint⁹ Battersea enamel¹⁰ mirror knobs. In Cyril's rooms—usually so austerely¹¹ bare—a handsome Oriental rug and several curtain-draped chairs hinted at purchases made at the instigation of a taste other than his own.

 

When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the ladies with a promptness that was suggestive of surreptitious watching at some window. On Pete's face the dignity of his high office and the delight of the moment were fighting for mastery. The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy Neilson stepped over the threshold with a cheery “Good morning, Pete.”

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