Mundy went to answer
it. The puzzled look I often saw in her eyes when talking to me
still filled them, but she said nothing more except good night, and
when I heard her footsteps in the hall below I went to the door and
locked it. This new privacy, this sense of freedom from unescapable
interruption, was still so precious, that though an unnecessary
precaution, I turned the key that I might feel perfectly sure of
quiet hours ahead, and at my sigh of satisfaction I laughed.
Going into my bedroom, which adjoined my sitting-room, I hung in the
closet the coat I had left on a chair, put away my hat and gloves,
and again looked around, as if they were still strange--the white bed
and bureau, the wash-rugs, the muslin curtains, the many contrasts to
former furnishings--and again I sighed contentedly. They were mine.
The house I am now living in is indeed an old-fashioned one, but well
built and of admirable design. The rooms are few--only eight in
all--and four of them I have taken for myself--the upper four. The
lower floor is occupied by Mrs. Mundy and Bettina, her little
granddaughter.
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