The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. She was suddenly grave. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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