If she did not care for music, Mavis wondered why she had made a point of asking if she (Mavis) could play.

Mrs Hamilton’s bedroom was a further revelation to the girl; she looked wide-eyed at the Louis Seize gilt furniture, the tapestry, the gilt-edged screens, the plated bath in a corner of the room, the superb dressing-table bestrewed with gold toilet nicknacks.

“Do you like my bed?” asked Mrs Hamilton, who was watching the girl’s undisguised wonder.

“I haven’t had time to take in the other things.”

Mavis looked at the bed; it stood in an alcove on the side of the room furthest from where she was.  It was long, low, and gilded; plum-coloured curtains rose in voluptuous folds till they were joined near the ceiling by a pair of big silver doves.

“Do you like it?” asked Mrs Hamilton.

“Like is scarcely the word.  I’ve never imagined anything like it in my life.”

“It belonged to Madame du Barri, the mistress of a French king.”

“I’ve read something about her.”

“He always wished to give her a toilette set of pure gold, but could never quite afford it.  I hope to get one next year if things go well.”

Mavis stared at Mrs Hamilton in wide-eyed amazement.  The rich woman appeared to take no notice of the girl’s surprise, and said: 

“Sit by the fire with me a moment.  It will soon be time for you to dress.”

“Dress!  I’ve only what I’ve got on with me.  My one poor evening dress would look absurd in this house.”

“I told you I’d see to that,” replied Mrs Hamilton.  “I’ve had a young friend staying with me who was just about your build.  She left one or two of her evening dresses behind her.  If they don’t quite fit, my maid will take them in.”

“You are good to me,” said Mavis.

“If you like it, I’ll give you one.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“You can to-night.”

“To-night?”

“Listen.  I’ve two old friends coming to dinner.  One is a Mr—­Mr
Ellis, but he won’t interest you a bit.”

“Why not?”

“He’s old and is already infatuated.”

“Isn’t the other, then?” asked Mavis lightly.

“Mr—­Mr Williams!  No.  I wonder if you’d interest him.”

“I don’t suppose so for one moment,” remarked Mavis.

“You’re too modest.  Mr Williams is young, good-looking, rich.”

“Money doesn’t interest me.”

“Nonsense!”

“Really, it doesn’t.”

“Not after your wanting work for so long?”

“Not a bit.”

“Not when you see it can buy things like mine?”

“Of course money is wonderful, but it isn’t everything.”

“You say that because you don’t know.  Money is power, happiness, contentment, life.  And you know it in your heart of hearts.  Every woman, who is anything at all, knows it.  Surely, after all you’ve gone through, it appeals to you?”