The door
was white, the handle and knocker were of massive silver. The
first seemed a disappointing index of Lakely's private taste,
the second a ridiculous temptation to needy humanity. He
looked again at the number of the house, but it stared back at
him convincingly. Then the door opened.
So keen was his sense of unfitness that, still trying to fuse
his impression of Lakely with the idea of silver
door-fittings, he stepped into the hall without the usual
preliminary question. Suddenly realizing the necessity, he
turned to the servant; but the man forestalled him:
"Will you come to the white room, sir? And may I take your
coat?"
The smooth certainty of the man's manner surprised him. It
held another savor of disappointment--seeming as little in
keeping with the keen, business-like Lakely as did the house.
Still struggling with his impression, he allowed himself to be
relieved of his hat and coat and in silence ushered up the
shallow staircase.
As the last step was reached it came to him again to mention
his host's name; but simultaneously with the suggestion the
servant stepped forward with a quick, silent movement and
threw open a door.
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