The dining-room is a large, cheerful room on the second storey, dominated by a vast and gleaming table that can extend out from four to almost sixteen feet in length. Currently only two of its extra leaves are in use, with the others stored neatly in the corner beside the lift; but if necessary the outermost edges can be pulled out yet further on their bearers and more leaves slotted into place, until the table can seat a whole banquet. On occasion indeed it has done so — although assembling the assortment of chairs required strained the Tower's resources to the utmost!

The walls are panelled to hide the stonework, and a large dresser stands in the the recessed half of the room beyond the stairwell, with a selection of plates and glassware on display on its upper shelves and all the rest fastened securely into the cupboards below, along with the drawers of cutlery and a few rarely-used oddments that have found their way up from the kitchen. A silver cake-stand, for instance.

In the corner beyond the dresser a section of the panelling slides aside to allow access to the lift or dumb-waiter from the kitchen below. In practice it is often easier to enlist the various diners to carry up the dishes themselves, so that the food has less of a tendency to get cold en route; but the lift is convenient for piling the washing-up in while clearing the table, once the plates have reached the stage of emptiness when they can be stacked. The débris of the entire meal can then be retrieved from below later on.

On the window-sills there is a collection of coloured glass animals, both blown and moulded. On winter afternoons, with the low sun behind them, they can seem to glow as if aflame from within, particularly the red Venetian glass. On the other hand, those creatures are somewhat crudely styled, with large heads and arrow-straight, thrust-out limbs; by the door meanwhile there is an especially graceful pair of swans in the palest of frosted blues.