‘What is happening at the moment,’ she thought to herself, ‘is just like reading a book. When you get halfway through it, you have it taken away so that you never know the end.’
Then she told herself that she must not be critical.
She was now in Paris and how could she ask for anything more?
She could not resist, however, before she went up the stairs, peeping into one or two of the other rooms.
They were undoubtedly sitting in the best room in the house and yet she thought the others just as entrancing.
In one room, which was obviously the library, the walls were covered with books and another room contained a Grand Piano.
It was large enough for a small audience to listen to whoever was playing or singing.
The third room, which was most obviously a man’s room, had sporting pictur
