Not a very handsome house, Maggie thought.A dull square grey with chimneys like ears in exactly the right places.Some pieces of paper were whirled up and down by the wind, they danced about the horse's feet.She noticed that the door-handles needed polishing.Acavernous hall, a young girl with untidy hair and a yelping dog received them.
"That's Mitch!" said Paul."Dear old Mitch.How are you, dear old fellow? Down Mitch! Down! There's a good dog."The young girl was terrified of Maggie.She gulped through her nose.
"I've put tea in the study, sir," she said.
"Tea at once, little woman, eh?" said Paul."I'm dying for some.
Thank you, Emily.All well? That's right.Dear, dear, It IS nice to be home again."Yes, he was nervous, poor Paul.She felt a great tenderness for him, but she could not say the right words.She should have said: "It is nice," but it was not.The hall was so cold and dark, and all over the house windows were rattling.
They went straight into the study.What a room! It reminded Maggie at once, in its untidiness and discomfort, of her father's, study, and that thought struck a chill into her very heart, so that she had to pause for a moment and control herself.There were piles of newspapers heaped up against the shelves; books run to the ceiling, old, old books with the covers tumbling off them.On the stone mantelpiece was a perfect litter--old pipes, bundles of letters, a ball of string, some yellow photographs, a crucifix and a small plant dead and shrivelled in its pot.