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〃'Mamma！。。。' Emmeline and Caroline implored in unison。
〃'In my young days' Lady Lapith was launched into her subject；
nothing； it seemed； could stop her now。 'In my young days； if you didn't
eat； people told you you needed a dose of rhubarb。 Nowadays。。。'
〃There was a cry； Georgiana had swooned sideways on to Lord
Timpany's shoulder。 It was a desperate expedient； but it was successful。
Lady Lapith was stopped。
〃The days passed in an uneventful round of pleasures。 Of all the gay
party George alone was unhappy。 Lord Timpany was paying his court to
Georgiana； and it was clear that he was not unfavourably received。
George looked on； and his soul was a hell of jealousy and despair。 The
boisterous company of the young men became intolerable to him； he
shrank from them； seeking gloom and solitude。 One morning； having
broken away from them on some vague pretext； he returned to the house
alone。 The young men were bathing in the pool below； their cries and
laughter floated up to him； making the quiet house seem lonelier and more
silent。 The lovely sisters and their mamma still kept their chambers； they
did not customarily make their appearance till luncheon； so that the male
guests had the morning to themselves。 George sat down in the hall and
abandoned himself to thought。
〃At any moment she might die； at any moment she might become
Lady Timpany。 It was terrible； terrible。 If she died； then he would die
too； he would go to seek her beyond the grave。 If she became Lady
Timpany。。。ah； then！ The solution of the problem would not be so simple。
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If she became Lady Timpany： it was a horrible thought。 But then
suppose she were in love with Timpanythough it seemed incredible that
anyone could be in love with Timpany suppose her life depended on
Timpany； suppose she couldn't live without him？ He was fumbling his
way along this clueless labyrinth of suppositions when the clock struck
twelve。 On the last stroke； like an automaton released by the turning
clockwork； a little maid； holding a large covered tray； popped out of the
door that led from the kitchen regions into the hall。 From his deep arm…
chair George watched her （himself； it was evident； unobserved） with an
idle curiosity。 She pattered across the room and came to a halt in front of
what seemed a blank expense of panelling。 She reached out her hand and；
to George's extreme astonishment； a little door swung open； revealing the
foot of a winding staircase。 Turning sideways in order to get her tray
through the narrow opening； the little maid darted in with a rapid crab…like
motion。 The door closed behind her with a click。 A minute later it
opened again and the maid； without her tray； hurried back across the hall
and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen。 George tried to
recompose his thoughts； but an invincible curiosity drew his mind towards
the hidden door； the staircase； the little maid。 It was in vain he told
himself that the matter was none of his business； that to explore the secrets
of that surprising door； that mysterious staircase within； would be a piece
of unforgivable rudeness and indiscretion。 It was in vain； for five
minutes he struggled heroically with his curiosity； but at the end of that
time he found himself standing in front of the innocent sheet of panelling
through which the little maid had disappeared。 A glance sufficed to show
him the position of the secret doorsecret； he perceived； only to those who
looked with a careless eye。 It was just an ordinary door let in flush with
the panelling。 No latch nor handle betrayed its position； but an
unobtrusive catch sunk in the wood invited the thumb。 George was
astonished that he had not noticed it before； now he had seen it； it was so
obvious； almost as obvious as the cupboard door in the library with its
lines of imitation shelves and its dummy books。 He pulled back the catch
and peeped inside。 The staircase； of which the degrees were made not of
stone but of blocks of ancient oak； wound up and out of sight。 A slit…like
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window admitted the daylight； he was at the foot of the central tower； and
the little window looked out over the terrace； they were still shouting and
splashing in the pool below。
〃George closed the door and went back to his seat。 But his curiosity
was not satisfied。 Indeed； this partial satisfaction had but whetted its
appetite。 Where did the staircase lead？ What was the errand of the little
maid？ It was no business of his； he kept repeatingno business of his。
He tried to read； but his attention wandered。 A quarter…past twelve
sounded on the harmonious clock。 Suddenly determined； George rose；
crossed the room； opened the hidden door； and began to ascend the stairs。
He passed the first window； corkscrewed round； and came to another。 He
paused for a moment to look out； his heart beat uncomfortably； as though
he were affronting some unknown danger。 What he was doing； he told
himself； was extremely ungentlemanly； horribly underbred。 He tiptoed
onward and upward。 One turn more； then half a turn； and a door
confronted him。 He halted before it； listened； he could hear no sound。
Putting his eye to the keyhole； he saw nothing but a stretch of white sunlit
wall。 Emboldened； he turned the handle and stepped across the threshold。
There he halted； petrified by what he saw； mutely gaping。
〃In the middle of a pleasantly sunny little room'it is now Priscilla's
boudoir；' Mr。 Wimbush remarked parentheticallystood a small circular
table of mahogany。 Crystal； porcelain； and silver；all the shining
apparatus of an elegant mealwere mirrored in its polished depths。 The
carcase of a cold chicken； a bowl of fruit； a great ham； deeply gashed to its
h