Creative Books

And with one bound as light as a young kid, Halcyone was in the room.
There was a second armchair beyond the pile of books, and into that she
nestled, crossing her knees and clasping her hands round them. "Now we
can begin," she said.
"Tea or talk?" asked the old man.
"Why, talk, of course; there is no tea--"
"But if you rang that bell some might come."
Halcyone jumped up again and looked about for the bell. She was not
going to ask where it was--she disliked stupid people herself. The old
man watched her from under the penthouse of his eyebrows with a curious
smile.
The bell was hidden in the carving of the mantelpiece, but she found it
at last and gave it a lusty pull.
It seemed answered instantaneously by a strange-looking man,--a dark,
extremely thin person with black, dull eyes.
The old man spoke to him in an unknown language and he retired silently.
"Who was that?" asked Halcyone.
"That is my servant,--he will bring tea."
"He is not English?"
"No--does that matter?"
"Of course not--but what country does he come from?"
"You must ask him someday.


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