_nothing_ else. What a fuss
over nothing! ... Martin, you're wearing a green tie. I've never seen
you in green before... Darling! you're adorable in green..."

CHAPTER FOUR.

GRIZEL AT HOME.

It was the afternoon of Grizel Beverley's first "At Home" celebration.
The drawing-room had been made ready for the occasion with the aid of
what seemed to Martin a very army of workmen, and, as Grizel pointed out
triumphantly, it looked as if it had been lived in for generations. Not
a single new object marred the mellowed perfection of the whole. Old
cabinets stood outlined against white walls, the floor was bare of the
superfluity of little tables and flower-stands which characterise so
many bride's apartments; with one striking exception the general effect
was austere in tone. The exception was found in a deep recess, on one
side of the fire-place, the walls of which were hung with a gorgeous
Chinese embroidery which made a feast of colour against the surrounding
white and brown, and proclaimed to an understanding eye that the
mistress of the house had appropriated the favoured niche for her own
use.

Against the wall stood a huge old sofa, showing delicate touches of
brass on the carved woodwork, and piled with a profusion of cushions to
match the tapestries in tone. There was a table also of carved Chinese
wood, littered with books, and a surprising number of odds and ends
considering the very short period in which it had been in use; a bureau
of dull red lacquer, littered to match, and a great blue enamel bowl
containing a few, but only a few, spring flowers.

When Grizel did a thing at all she did it thoroughly, and when the
drawing-room was finished to a thread, she herself dressed to match it
in a cream lace robe of fallacious simplicity, caught together with a
clasp of turquoise and diamonds, and a blue snood tied about her head.
When the crucial moment arrived, she intended to seat herself
sultana-like on her couch and burst in full splendour upon the admiring
throngs. Martin was convinced that no living thing could fail to be
subjugated by that gown, but he was equally convinced that Chumley would
disapprove of the snood, which it would call a bandage, and consider
theatrical and out of place. He knew his business better than to say
so, however, and was at the moment abundantly occupied in trying to lure
his wife from the window, where she had taken up her position,
field-glasses in hand, to watch