"But what should I do when visitors came?"
"Show them what they asked to see. You'd find that in the catalogue. You'd soon get the hang of the place. It's small. There's not much in it when you come to sum it up. Miss Davis will show you the ropes before she leaves on the first of October. I'll give you the same salary I've been paying her."
He named a sum the munificence of which almost took my breath away.
"It's the salary," he said, briefly, as he rose. "You can arrange with my secretary, Strangways, when you would like to begin. The sooner the better, as I understand that Miss Davis would like to get off."
He was on his way to the door when, thinking of the tomb-like aspect of the place, I asked, desperately:
"There's a man and his wife in the house. One of them would be always within call. The woman will bring you tea at half past four."
I could hardly believe my ears. I had never heard of such solicitude. "But I shouldn't need tea!" I began to assure him.
He paused for a moment, looking at me searchingly.
"You'll have callers," he repeated, as if I hadn't spoken, "and there'll be tea every day at four-thirty."
He was gone before I could protest further, or ask any more questions.
Hugh's explanation, when I laid the matter before him, was that Mr. Grainger was trying to play into the hands of that fellow, Strangways.
"He thinks there's something between him and you."
"I should hope not; but, evidently, Strangways has made him think--"
"Oh no, he hasn't, Hugh. Mr. Strangways is not that kind of man. Mr. Grainger has some other reason for wanting me there, but I can't think what it is."
"Then I shouldn't go till I knew," Hugh counseled, moodily.
But I did. I went the next week. Larry Strangways made the arrangements, and, after a fortnight under Miss Davis's instructions, I found myself alone.
It was not so trying as I feared, though it was monotonous. It was monotonous because there was so little to do. I was there each morning at half past nine. From one to two I had an hour for lunch. At six I came away. On Saturdays I had the afternoon. It was a little like being a prisoner, but a prisoner in a palace, a prisoner who is well paid.
The place consisted of one big, handsome room, some sixty feet by thirty, resembling the libraries of great houses I had seen abroad. That in this case it was detached from the dwelling was, I suppose, a matter of architectural convenience. Book-shelves lined the walls right up to the cornice. The dull reds and browns and blues and greens of the bindings carried out the mellow effects of the Oriental rugs on the floor. Under the shelves there were cupboards, some of them empty, others stocked with portfolios of prints, European and Japanese. There were no pictures, but a few large pieces of old porcelain and faïence, Persian, Spanish, and Chinese, stood on the mantelpiece and tables. For the rest, the furnishings consisted of a bust or two, a desk or two, and some decorative tables and chairs.