separate article of clothing-shirts, for instance, laid upon sliding
racks, tier upon tier of them, of every material and colour. There
was a closet fitted with shelves and equipped like a little shoe
store--high shoes and low shoes, black ones, brown ones, and white
ones, and each fitted over a last to keep its shape perfect. These
shoes were all made to order according to Reggie's designs, and
three or-four times a year there was a cleaning out, and those which
had gone out of fashion became the prey of his "man." There was a
safe in one closet, in which Reggie's jewellery was kept.

The dressing-room was furnished like a lady's boudoir, the furniture
upholstered with exquisite embroidered silk, and the bed hung with
curtains of the same material. There was a huge bunch of roses on
the centre-table, and the odour of roses hung heavy in the room.

The valet stood at attention with a rack of neckties, from which
Reggie critically selected one to match his shirt. "Are you going to
take Alice with you down to the Havens's?" he was asking; and he
added, "You'll meet Vivie Patton down there--she's had another row
at home."



"You don't say so!" exclaimed Oliver.

"Yes," said the other. "Frank waited up all night for her, and he
wept and tore his hair and vowed he would kill the Count. Vivie told
him to go to hell."

"Good God!" said Oliver. "Who told you that?"