He was immensely taken with that portion of the house he had already determined should be his own.  Scraped clean and repainted, and with that old furniture of Oleron’s grandmother’s, it ought to be entirely charming.  He went to the storage warehouse to refresh his memory of his half-forgotten belongings, and to take measurements; and thence he went to a decorator’s.  He was very busy with his regular work, and could have wished that the notice-board had caught his attention either a few months earlier or else later in the year; but the quickest way would be to suspend work entirely until after his removal....

A fortnight later his first floor was painted throughout in a tender, elder-flower white, the paint was dry, and Oleron was in the middle of his installation.  He was animated, delighted; and he rubbed his hands as he polished and made disposals of his grandmother’s effects—­the tall lattice-paned china cupboard with its Derby and Mason and Spode, the large folding Sheraton table, the long, low bookshelves (he had had two of them “copied"), the chairs, the Sheffield candlesticks, the riveted rose-bowls.  These things he set against his newly painted elder-white walls—­walls of wood panelled in the happiest proportions, and moulded and coffered to the low-seated window-recesses in a mood of gaiety and rest that the builders of rooms no longer know.  The ceilings were lofty, and faintly painted with an old pattern of stars; even the tapering mouldings of his iron fireplace were as delicately designed as jewellery; and Oleron walked about rubbing his hands, frequently stopping for the mere pleasure of the glimpses from white room to white room....

“Charming, charming!” he said to himself.  “I wonder what Elsie Bengough will think of this!”

He bought a bolt and a Yale lock for his door, and shut off his quarters from the rest of the house.  If he now wanted to read in bed, his book could be had for stepping into the next room.  All the time, he thought how exceedingly lucky he was to get the place.  He put up a hat-rack in the little square hall, and hung up his hats and caps and coats; and passers through the small triangular square late at night, looking up over the little serried row of wooden “To Let” hatchets, could see the light within Oleron’s red blinds, or else the sudden darkening of one blind and the illumination of another, as Oleron, candlestick in hand, passed from room to room, making final settlings of his furniture, or preparing to resume the work that his removal had interrupted.

II