He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. I’ll announce myself. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “Well, well, Martin. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America.
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