lish sporting prints on the walls were nice, too. He was tired but he would not go to bed till he had seen the upstairs.
So he ascended the uncarpeted steps, the lamp at a precarious angle. He explored three bedrooms and a dingy little study, and peered down a narrow passage that led to the rooms occupied by the help.
As he undressed he wondered how they were disposed: probably the robust girl and the dry old woman together; Windmill alone; the three Scots sleeping like logs. He found his bed, when he plunged into it, amazingly soft and enveloping. He had never slept on feathers before. As he drew the quilt to his chin he gave an amused little chuckle. It seemed to him that he had taken command of a storm-worn old ship and was outward bound on an unknown sea. Well, he had a hardy old pilot in Mrs. Machin . . . and, thinking of her, he fell asleep.
