Climb the hill to the big lodge-like home of the Nisbet's and you are met by the charming Mrs. Nisbet and her distinguished husband. They are cordial but not effusive. The feeling is rural and tranquil. Fog hides the top of the mountain behind the house and fog remnants hang placidly in the valley to the west. This, you tell yourself, is what the doctor ordered-a quiet morning in the country.
Books line the walls from floor to ceiling-some four thousand in all.
Mrs. Nisbet has remained outside. Mr. Nisbet drops into a chair and looks at you though the top lens of his tri-focals. The big man is silent, waiting. This is your party. So you venture a comment on books.