Your eye, first of all, would glide over the grey fitted carpet in the narrow,
long and high-ceilinged corridor. Its walls would be cupboards, in light-
coloured wood, with fittings of gleaming brass. Three prints, depicting,
respectively, the Derby winner Thunderbird, a paddle-steamer named
Ville-de-Motitereau, and a Stephenson locomotive, would lead to a
leather curtain hanging on thick, black, grainy wooden rings which
would slide back at the merest touch. There, the carpet would give
way to an almost yellow woodblock floor, partly covered by three
faded rugs. It would be a living room about twenty-three feet long
by ten feet wide. On the left, in a kind of recess, there would be a
large sofa upholstered in worn black leather, with pale cherrywood
bookcases on either side, heaped with books in untidy piles. Above
the sofa, a mariner's chart would fill the whole length of that sec-
tion of the wall. On the other side of a small low table, and be-
neath a silk prayer-mat nailed to the wall with three large-
headed brass studs, matching the leather curtain, there
would be another sofa, at right angles to the first,
with a light-brown velvet covering; it would
lead on to a small and spindly piece of
furniture, lacquered in dark red and
providing three display helves
for knick-knacks: agates and
stone eggs, snuffboxes, candy-
boxes, jade ashtrays, amother-
of-pearl oystershell, a silver
fob watch, a cut-glass glass, a
crystal pyramid, a miniature in
an oval frame. Further on, beyond
a padded door, there would be shelving
on both sides of the corner, for caskets and
for records, beside a closed gramophone of
which only four machined-steel knobs would
be visible, and above it, a print depicting The Great
Parade of the Military Tattoo. Through the window,dra-
ped with white and brown curtains in cloth imitating Jouy
wallpaper, you would glimpse a few trees, a tiny park, a bit
of street. A roll-top desk littered with papers and pen-holders
would go with a small cane-seated chair. On a console table
would be a telephone, a leather diary, a writing pad. Then, on
the other side of another door, beyond a low, square revolving
bookcase supporting a large, cylindrical vase decorated in blue
and filled with yellow roses, set beneath an oblong mirror in a
mahogany frame, there would be a narrow table with its two ben-
ches upholstered in tartan, which would bring your eye back to the
leather curtain. It would be all in browns, ochres, duns and yellows:
a world of slightly dull colours, in carefully graded shades, calcu-
lated with almost too much artistry, in the midst of which would be
some striking, brighter splashes - a cushion in almost garish orange,
a few multicoloured book jackets amongst the leather-bound volumes.
During the day, the light flooding in would make this room seem a little
sad, despite the roses. It would be an evening room. But in the winter,
with the curtains drawn, some spots illuminated - the bookcase corner,
the record shelves, the desk, the low table between the two settees, and
the vague reflections in the mirror — and large expanses in shadow,
whence all the things would gleam - the polished wood, the rich, heavy
silks, the cut glass, the softened leather — it would be a haven of peace,
a land of happiness. The first door would open onto a bedroom, its floor
covered with a light-coloured fitted carpet. An English double bed would
fill the whole rear part of it. On the right, to both sides of the window,
there would be tall and narrow sets of shelves holding a few books, to be
read and read again, photograph albums, packs of cards, pots, necklaces,
paste jewellery. To the left, an old oak wardrobe and two clothes horses of
wood and brass would stand opposite a small wing-chair upholstered in thin-
striped grey silk and a dressing table. Through a half-open door giving on
to a bathroom you would glimpse thick bathrobes, swan-neck taps in solid
brass, a large adjustable mirror, a pair of cut-throat razors and their green
leather sheaths, bottles, horn-handled brushes, sponges.