The Long Portage by Harold Bindloss

Clarence had gone away with Batley when Lisle called on Mrs. Gladwyne. She was leaving home for a visit on the following day and he wished to say good-by, and, if an opportunity offered, to ask her opinion upon a matter he had at heart. She was not a clever woman, but there were points on which he thought her judgment could be trusted. He was told that she would be occupied for a few minutes and was shown into her drawing-room. He sat down to wait and, though he was familiar with the house, he looked about him with an interest for which there was a reason. The room had always impressed him by its size and loftiness, and it did so more than ever that afternoon.

The floor was of hardwood, polished to a glossy luster by the hands of several generations, and the rugs scattered here and there emphasized its extent. Most of the furniture was old, and the few articles apparently bought in later times harmonized with it. The faded ceiling had been painted with Cupid's trailing ribands, he judged by some artist of the period shortly preceding the French Revolution, and two or three Arcadian figures hinted at the same date. There were other things -- a luster chandelier, quaintly-wrought hearth-irons, a carved wood mantel -- that posited to bygone days.