of artistic skill, designed and arranged under her own directions, the curtains enclosing it were delicate in colouring and so soft in fabric that the bed seemed enveloped in a mass of blue clouds, gold-lined, and all the sheets and clothing were filmy and lace-edged, and must have been the despair of the steam laundry; a blue silk covering, the colour of her own eyes, and embroidered with pale pink roses, gold-centred, reposed on it, matching the curtains, and an electric lamp shaded in rose colour depended from the French crown above the head; a lamp which flooded the bed with light when all the curtains were drawn and shut out the lights of the room.  The carpet was blue also, and the heavy curtains over all the windows matched it, edged with, and embroidered in gold.

The toilet-table, though simple enough in its arrangements, for Viola needed no cosmetics, no lotions, no manicure nor other evil inventions, was always a lovely object.  On its pale rose covering lay her gold-backed brushes and comb, her gold hand-mirror with cupids playing on it, her little gold boxes of pins, and always vases of fresh geraniums, white and rose-pink.  Out of the room at one side opened a smaller one, it was not used as a chapel nor yet as a dressing-room.  We dressed together and took pleasure in so doing, as we did in everything that threw us into intimate companionship.  We had no need of dressing-rooms since there were no teeth to come in and out, no wigs to be taken off and put on, no secrets on either side to be jealously guarded from one another.  No, the room opening out of ours was a supper-room, where, when we came back late from opera or theatre, we could always count on finding cold supper and champagne.  I went in to-night and turned on all the lights, which were many, while Viola laid aside her dress and slipped into a dressing-gown, something as fragile and beautiful as a rose-leaf, suiting her delicate, elusive beauty.  She followed me into the little supper-room, and as I turned and saw her on the threshold, the delicacy of the whole vision struck me.  A pain shot into my heart suddenly.  Supposing I ever lost her?  Saw her fade from me?

Her eyes were wide-open and laughing, a faint colour glowed in the white transparent skin, the lips were a light scarlet, parted now from the milky teeth.

I made two steps forwards and caught her and crushed her up tightly to my breast and kissed her and made her sit on my knee while I poured out some champagne.

“Now drink that,” I commanded; “you look as if you needed something material.  You look like a vision that may vanish from me into thin air.”

Viola laughed and drank the wine.

“Trevor,” she said reflectively, as if following up some train of thought she had been pursuing already a long time.  “What heaps of wonderfully beautiful girls and women we saw to-night.  Wouldn’t you like some of them?”

I laughed.

“Some of them!  Supposing you send me up a dozen or two?”