The house in Grosvenor Street was the most splendid mansion I had ever
seen. It was Cousin Geoffrey's house over again, only there were no
cobwebs, no neglect, no dirt anywhere. The household machinery was
perfect, and well oiled. I suppose I ought to have felt timid when
those ponderous doors were thrown open, and a powdered footman stared at
me in the insolent manner which seems specially to belong to these
servitors of the great. I had no feeling of abasement, however. The
lady, be she young or old, who resided in this palace, wanted a boon
from me; I required nothing at her hands except my own property back
again.