Mrs. Landis came from one of New York’s oldest families, and she was wealthy in her own right; she had a palace on Fifth Avenue, and now that she had turned her husband out, she had nothing at all to put in it except her clothes.  Alice told about the places in which she kept them—­it was like a museum!  There was a gown-room, made dust-proof, of polished hardwood, and with tier upon tier of long poles running across, and padded skirt-supporters hanging from them.  Everywhere there was order and system—­each skirt was numbered, and in a chiffonier-drawer of the same number you would find the waist—­and so on with hats and stockings and gloves and shoes and parasols.  There was a row of closets, having shelves piled up with dainty lace-trimmed and beribboned lingerie; there were two closets full of hats and three of shoes.  “When she went West,” said Alice, “one of her maids counted, and found that she had over four hundred pairs!  And she actually has a cabinet with a card-catalogue to keep track of them.  And all the shelves are lined with perfumed silk sachets, and she has tiny sachets sewed in every skirt and waist; and she has her own private perfume—­she gave me some.  She calls it Occur de Jeannette, and she says she designed it herself, and had it patented!”

And then Alice went on to describe the maid’s work-room, which was also of polished hardwood, and dust-proof, and had a balcony for brushing clothes, and wires upon which to hang them, and hot and cold water, and a big ironing-table and an electric stove.  “But there can’t be much work to do,” laughed the girl, “for she never wears a gown more than two or three times.  Just think of paying several thousand dollars for a costume, and giving it to your poor relations after you have worn it only twice!  And the worst of it is that Mrs. Landis says it’s all nothing unusual; you’ll find such arrangements in every home of people who are socially prominent.  She says there are women who boast of never appearing twice in the same gown, and there’s one dreadful personage in Boston who wears each costume once, and then has it solemnly cremated by her butler!”

“It is wicked to do such things,” put in old Mrs. Montague, when she had heard this tale through.  “I don’t see how people can get any pleasure out of it.”

“That’s what I said,” replied Alice.

“To whom did you say that?” asked Montague.  “To Mrs. Landis?”

“No,” said Alice, “to a cousin of hers.  I was downstairs waiting for her, and this girl came in.  And we got to talking about it, and I said that I didn’t think I could ever get used to such things.”

“What did she say?” asked the other.

“She answered me strangely,” said the girl.  “She’s tall, and very stately, and I was a little bit afraid of her.  She said, ’You’ll get used to it.  Everybody you know will be doing it, and if you try to do differently they’ll take offence; and you won’t have the courage to do without friends.  You’ll be meaning every day to stop, but you never will, and you’ll go on until you die.’”