Mrs Machin had never
seen it in action. She had to admit that it was less complicated than
oil-lamps. In the kitchen the electric light blazed upon walls tiled in
grey and a floor tiled in black and white. There was a gas range and a
marble slopstone with two taps. The woodwork was dark. Earthenware
saucepans stood on a shelf. The cupboards were full of gear chiefly in
earthenware. Denry began to exhibit to his mother a tank provided with
ledges and shelves and grooves, in which he said that everything except
knives could be washed and dried automatically.
"Hadn't you better go and find your Mr Wilbraham?" she interrupted.
"So I had," said Denry; "I was forgetting him."
She heard him wandering over the house and calling in divers tones upon
Mr Wilbraham. But she heard no other voice. Meanwhile she examined the
kitchen in detail, appreciating some of its devices and failing to
comprehend others.
"I expect he's missed the train," said Denry, coming back. "Anyhow, he
isn't here. I may as well show you the rest of the house now."
He led her into the hall, which was radiantly lighted.
"It's quite warm here," said Mrs Machin.
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