It was Lise who had given the note of ornamentation to the bedroom.  Against the cheap faded lilac and gold wall-paper were tacked photo-engravings that had taken the younger sister’s fancy:  a young man and woman, clad in scanty bathing suits, seated side by side in a careening sail boat,—­the work of a popular illustrator whose manly and womanly “types” had become national ideals.

There were other drawings, if not all by the same hand, at least by the same school; one, sketched in bold strokes, of a dinner party in a stately neo-classic dining-room, the table laden with flowers and silver, the bare-throated women with jewels.  A more critical eye than Lise’s, gazing upon this portrayal of the Valhalla of success, might have detected in the young men, immaculate in evening dress, a certain effort to feel at home, to converse naturally, which their square jaws and square shoulders belied.  This was no doubt the fault of the artist’s models, who had failed to live up to the part.  At any rate, the sight of these young gods of leisure, the contemplation of the stolid butler and plush footmen in the background never failed to make Lise’s heart beat faster.

On the marble of the bureau amidst a litter of toilet articles, and bought by Lise for a quarter at the Bagatelle bargain counter, was an oval photograph frame from which the silver wash had begun to rub off, and the band of purple velvet inside the metal had whitened.  The frame always contained the current object of Lise’s affections, though the exhibits—­as Janet said—­were subject to change without notice.  The Adonis who now reigned had black hair cut in the prevailing Hampton fashion, very long in front and hanging down over his eyes like a Scottish terrier’s; very long behind, too, but ending suddenly, shaved in a careful curve at the neck and around the ears.  It had almost the appearance of a Japanese wig.  The manly beauty of Mr. Max Wylie was of the lantern-jawed order, and in his photograph he conveyed the astonished and pained air of one who has been suddenly seized by an invisible officer of the law from behind.  This effect, one presently perceived, was due to the high, stiff collar, the “Torture Brand,” Janet called it, when she and her sister were engaged in one of their frequent controversies about life in general:  the obvious retort to this remark, which Lise never failed to make, was that Janet could boast of no beaux at all.

It is only fair to add that the photograph scarcely did Mr. Wylie justice.  In real life he did not wear the collar, he was free and easy in his manners, sure of his powers of conquest.  As Lise observed, he had made a home-run with her at Slattery’s Riverside Park.  “Sadie Hartmann was sure sore when I tangoed off with him,” she would observe reminiscently....