In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He smiled tenderly. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Ralph.
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