Read Online Miss Buncle Married by D. E. Stevenson - Free Book Online

square, with white pillars, very slim and tall; a winding stair with a graceful wrought-iron balustrade curled upward to the bedroom floor. On Barbara’s right was the drawing-room, beautifully proportioned, with a carved mantel-piece of Adam’s design. On her left was the dining-room, with three tall windows looking on to the drive. Before her a green baize door led to the kitchen premises at the back.
    From the very first the lofty ceilings pleased Barbara (it was “nice and airy”), and she liked the giraffe-high windows which let in quantities of light. She could see, in her mind’s eye, long curtains hanging from the pelmets in gracious folds; they must be velvet, she thought, soft and warm, and richly colored. There was little doubt in Barbara’s mind now, it was the house she had been looking for—her house and Arthur’s. The dirt of the place, the neglect, the desolation of torn wallpapers and rotted blinds, the red rust on the door handles and fireplaces and balustrade left her undaunted. These were things that could be put right, mere details, and, as such, of no account. Barbara saw the house as it would be when these trivial matters had been attended to, she saw the house as she was going to make it.
    â€œAnd you’ll like that, won’t you?” she said to the house (Mr. Pinthorpe had disappeared upstairs to open the shutters in the bedrooms). “You’ll like it when I’ve made you all nice, and washed your face and brushed your hair for you. You’ve been waiting for me all this time, and now I’ve found you.”
    Barbara poked about, opening doors, and re-creating the whole house in her mind. She discovered a smaller room beyond the drawing-room, and gave it to Arthur on the spot. It should be his study—a proper “man’s room.” There were dead flies on the windowsill and cobwebs in every corner, and the old-fashioned basket-grate was broken and red with rust, but Barbara saw it cozy and comfortable with a brown carpet on the floor, and two comfortable leather chairs before a blazing log fire. We shall sit here on cold nights, she told herself delightedly, and listen to the wind howling in the trees.
    The rooms upstairs were large and square; they were quite as disreputable as those on the ground floor and Barbara was quite as pleased with them. She opened the window in “her” bedroom and gazed out—the view was perfect. Beyond the trees was a graceful line of hills, patterned with fields and small dark copses. Barbara had never possessed a “view” before—a view of her very own. Tanglewood Cottage was buried in tall trees, and Sunnydene was set among rows of villas, each a replica of itself. If there ever had been any doubt at all in Barbara’s mind as to the desirability of The Archway House, it was gone now. “ This is my house ,” she said, and sat herself down on the broad window seat in a possessive manner.
    Mr. Pinthrope had finished his god-like occupation of bringing light into dark places, and now he returned to the lady who had been given into his charge, and stood and stared at her. She was a rum one (he reflected) sitting there and looking out of the window. Most people, seeing a house for the first time, poked into every corner, and complained about the dirt, and asked all sorts of searching questions about the drains, and the water supply, and whether it was built on sandy soil. Mr. Pinthorpe had been told to give this lady every facility and all the information she desired. He had given her every facility by opening up the place, and he was now prepared to be put through a catechism regarding the hidden merits and demerits of the house. He could answer quite comfortably and truthfully about the drains and the water, for they were in Messrs. Tupper, Tyler, & Tupper’s charge, and the roof was sound—he knew that. And he knew that if he were asked whether the place were damp