But though Vavasor's private lodgings were so very private, he had, nevertheless, taken some trouble in adorning them. The furniture in the sitting-room was very neat, and the book-shelves were filled with volumes that shone with gilding on their backs. The inkstand, the paper-weight, the envelope case on his writing-table were all handsome. He had a single good portrait of a woman's head hanging on one of his walls. He had a special place adapted for his pistols, others for his foils, and again another for his whips. The room was as pretty a bachelor's room as you would wish to enter, but you might see, by the position of the single easy-chair that was brought forward, that it was seldom appropriated to the comfort of more than one person. Here he sat lounging over his breakfast, late on a Sunday morning in September, when all the world was out of town. He was reading a letter which had just been brought down to him from his club. Though the writer of it was his sister Kate, she had not been privileged to address it to his private lodgings. He read it very quickly, running rapidly over its contents, and then threw it aside from him as though it were of no moment, keeping, however, an enclosure in his hand. 
But though Vavasor's lodgings were so very private, he had, nevertheless, adorned them with care. The furniture was very neat, and the book-shelves were filled. He had a good portrait of a woman's head hanging on a wall. He had special places for his pistols, his fencing foils, and his hunting whips. The room was a pretty bachelor's room, but it had only one easy-chair.
Here George sat lounging over his breakfast, late on a Sunday morning in September, reading a letter from his sister Kate which had just been brought to him from his club. He read it very quickly, and then threw it aside as though it were of no importance, keeping, however, an enclosure in his hand. 