When Ida went upstairs for the wash, the need for which Miss Isabel had
so kindly informed her of, she found that her room was clean and fairly
comfortable, though its appearance seemed strange after the huge and
old-fashioned one at the Hall. The furniture was cheap and
unsubstantial, the towels were small and thin; in place of pictures,
aggressively illuminated texts scarred the walls like freshly made
wounds, and the place had a bare, homeless look which made Ida shudder.

The dining-room, when she went down to it, did not impress her any more
favourably; for here, too, the furniture was new and shiny with a
sticky kind of shininess, as if the treacly varnish had not yet dried;
there was not a comfortable chair in the room; the pictures were the
most gruesome ones of Doré's, and there was a text over the
mantel-piece as aggressive and as hideous in colouring as those in her
room. A lukewarm leg of mutton, very underdone, was on the table, the
cloth of which was by no means clean; the dishes, which contained quite
cold vegetables, were cracked and did not match; the bread was of the
commonest kind, that which is called "household;" the knives were badly
cleaned, and the plate was worn off the forks and spoons. It was
considered inelegant to have gas in the dining-room, therefore a cheap
paraffin-lamp was in the centre of the table, and was more liberal of
scent than light. The curtains to the window were of that annoying red
which shrieks down any other colour near it; they made Ida's tired eyes
ache.