‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. There are way-stations—even terminals. I had a perfect shoal of callers. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. “Well, I do. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment.
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