and hand mirrors of polished copper set in frames of gems that he
did not recognize. Upon the wall were mended bits of purple
tapestry, embroidered or painted or woven in singular patterns of
flora and birds that St. George could not name. There were rolls of
parchment, and vases of rock-crystal, and a little apparatus, most
delicately poised, for weighing unknown, delicate things; and jars
and cups without handles, all baked of a soft pottery having a nap
like the down of a peach. Over the windows hung curtains of lace,
woven by hands which St. George could not guess, in patterns of such
freedom and beauty as western looms never may know. On the floor and
on the divans were spread strange skins, some marked like peacocks,
some patterned like feathers and like seaweed, all in a soft fur
that was like silk.

Mingled with these curios were the ordinary articles of a cultivated
household. There were many books, good pictures, furniture with
simple lines, a tea-table that almost ministered of itself, a
work-basket filled with "violet-weaving" needle-work, and a gossipy
clock with well-bred chimes. St. George was enormously attracted by
the room which could harbour so many pagan delights without itself
falling their victim. The air was fresh and cool and smelled of the
window primroses.

[Illustration]

In a few moments Mrs. Hastings entered, and if St. George had been
bewildered by the room he was still more amazed by the appearance
of his hostess. She was utterly unlike the atmosphere of her
drawing-room. She was a bustling, commonplace little creature, with
an expressionless face, indented rather than molded in features. Her