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of this street; here the horse-drawn public transport took the form of trams. Their driver drew into the curb outside a large yellow sandstone building with Doric pillars around its entrance, and a marvelously uniformed man helped her out of the hackney. His bow to Alexander was deferential, but became even more so after Alexander slipped a gold coin into his hand.
    The hotel was incredibly luxurious. An imposing staircase, plush crimson everywhere, huge vases of crimson flowers, the glitter of gilt from picture frames, tables and pedestals. A colossal crystal chandelier blazed with candles. Liveried men bore her trunks away while Alexander led her not to the staircase but to what looked like a gigantic, lacy brass bird cage, where another liveried man waited with his gloved hand on its open door. As soon as she, Alexander and the attendant were inside it, the cage jerked and quivered, then started to rise! Half fascinated, half terrified, Elizabeth looked down on the receding lobby, saw the cross section of a floor, a crimson hallway; creaking and groaning, the bird cage continued to rise. Four, five, six floors. Shuddering, it stopped to let them out.
    “Have you not seen a lift, Elizabeth?” Alexander asked, his voice amused.
    “Lift?”
    “Or, in California, an elevator. They’re governed by the principle of hydraulics—water pressure. Lifts are very new. This is the only one in Sydney, but soon all commercial buildings will grow higher and higher because their occupants won’t have to climb hundreds of stairs. I use this hotel because of its lift. Its best accommodation is on the top floor, where there’s fresh air, a view, and a lot less noise.” He produced a key and used it to open a door. “This is your suite, Elizabeth.” Out came a gold watch; he consulted it and pointed to a clock ticking on the marble mantel. “The maid will be here shortly to unpack for you. You can have until eight o’clock to bathe, rest, and change for dinner. Evening dress, please.”
    That said, he vanished down the hall.
    Her knees were weak now, but not due to Alexander Kinross’s smile. What a sumptuous room! A pale green color scheme, a vast four-poster bed, and an area containing a table and chairs as well as something that looked like a cross between a narrow bed and a sofa. A pair of French doors led out on to a small balcony—oh, he was right! The view was wonderful! Never in her life had she been up more than one flight of stairs—if only she could have seen Loch Leven and Kinross County from such a lofty eminence! The whole of eastern Sydney was spread before her—gunboats moored in a bay, many rows of houses, forests on the distant hills as well as along the foreshores of what did indeed look, from so high up, the grandest harbor in the world. But fresh air? Not to Elizabeth’s sensitive nose, still able to smell that fetid stink.
    The maid knocked and entered bearing a tray of tea, little sandwiches and cakes.
    “But have your bath first, Miss Drummond. The floor butler will make the tea when you’re ready,” said this dignified person.
    Elizabeth discovered that a huge bathroom lay through a door beyond the bed, together with what the maid called a dressing room, replete with mirrors, cabinets, bureaux.
    Alexander must have explained to the maid that all this was strange to his intended bride, for the woman, expressionless, took over—showed her how to flush the water closet, drew her a bath in a massive tub and washed her salt-caked hair as if she saw naked women every day and thought nothing of it.
     
     
    ALEXANDER KINROSS, thought Elizabeth later, sipping tea. Impressions can be treacherous, shaped by accident and gossip, ignorance and superstition. It was Alexander Kinross’s misfortune that he happened to be the image of a head-and-shoulders sketch of the Devil that Dr. Murray had deliberately hung on the wall of the children’s Bible-study room. Its aim was to terrify the children of his