The furniture in Virgilia's room was very simple. The bed was a couch,
covered with white, with head and foot-board of ebony, curved in form
and inlaid with quaint flower designs in mother-of-pearl. There was
one chair, with slender arms, also in ebony and mother-of-pearl, and a
stand, with ewer and basin of beaten brass. The floor was laid in red
brick, and on it, at the bedside, lay a tiger-skin, brought from the
East. Its tawny tints, varied by bright yellow, were the only colors
in the room.
Virgilia was fond of fresh air. She pushed up the trap door in the
roof, reaching it easily, as the ceiling was so low, and let in a
flood of glorious evening light. Through the aperture she could see a
patch of brilliant blue sky. The swallows, dipping and circling, were
swirling about in the heavens, black specks against the golden light
of the departing sun.
Virgilia drew a long breath and then another. It had been very hot and
very fatiguing in her mother's room. She had refused to have any sun
or light except that coming out of the large living-room, from which
four sleeping chambers opened.
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