One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you may begin to realize what it all means for us. Mrs. . Daughters were not like sons.
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