I followed him across an antechamber into a great hall, where slender pale pink columns, carved in the form of twisted ropes, gave support to an arched gallery. A pair of magnificent crystal chandeliers hung from the intricately molded ceiling, and the floor was of black and white marble in gleaming hexagons. To the right and left of me were a number of paneled double doors, and at the far end rose the twin-branching staircase, also of marble, with a wrought iron balaster of wreaths and rosettes picked out in gold. The footman ushered me into a salon, where the only light was that which filtered through the closed shutters. After the tiring heat of the journey the shadowed coolness was welcome. With a low bow the servant withdrew, closing the doors behind him. I took a seat in one of the tapestry chairs and tried to compose myself. While I waited, I glanced around at the opulent decorations and furnishings, which made the Carlisles’ elegant house in Harley Street seem almost humble by comparison.
