Lamplight winked on the well-polished brass of a barometer hanging against the wall and on the bright fittings of a telescope on a shelf beneath. A smooth old iron-bound sea-chest stood below, and blue braid rugs covered the floor.
But Joan was most of all aware of delicious-looking food spread upon the round, lamplit table. Mrs. Pemberley led her firmly past, however.
"I'll take you up to your room now," she said. "When you come down I'll have another place laid, and I hope that you'll soon forget Tewksville Junction."
She pushed aside a blue curtain as she spoke. Behind it steep, narrow stairs, with a knotted rope against the wall for balustrade, led straight from the living-room to a little square landing. Mrs. Pemberley opened a white door at the right and lit a candle. Its little yellow tongue wavered and then shot up clear and strong, lighting the plastered walls of the tiny room, the white bed, and the curtains which snapped out briskly in the fresh wind from the water. A clean salt smell pervaded everything.
Joan sighed contentedly as she took off her coat.
