Excerpt from The Wings of Pride

Rain, dashing upon long windows, accentuated the inward comfort. The room glowed in richness. Logs crackled cheerfully. Gleams of light danced over the dull beauty of the Persian carpet, brightened the subdued glitter of the coffee service which stood near the fireplace, even flung an evanescent radiance upon the books which lined the walls from fireplace to long windows, from floor to ceiling, producing an effect which made the room a place of delight, a place for quiet hours, with an answer to any mood, a room for morning, for evening, for all seasons, never failing in its charm, never disappointing in its variety.

It was the place where Mrs. Muir and her daughter lived. Here they read their morning letters, planned their days, met before luncheon, met for tea. Here they sat upon such evenings as Olive chanced to be at home.

Mrs. Muir loved the room because of her dead husbands joy in creating it.

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