for Sylvia," he thought; "and she loves pearls. And a prayer-carpet
would have pleased the Professor tremendously. But no, after all, it
wouldn't have done. Sylvia couldn't go about in pearls the size of new
potatoes, and the Professor would only have ragged me for more reckless
extravagance. Besides, if I'd taken any of the Jinnee's gifts, he might
keep on pouring more in, till I should be just where I was before--or
worse off, really, because I couldn't decently refuse them, then. So
it's best as it is."

And really, considering his temperament and the peculiar nature of his
position, it is not easy to see how he could have arrived at any other
conclusion.

CHAPTER VIII

BACHELOR'S QUARTERS

Horace was feeling particularly happy as he walked back the next evening
to Vincent Square. He had the consciousness of having done a good day's
work, for the sketch-plans for Mr. Wackerbath's mansion were actually
completed and despatched to his business address, while Ventimore now
felt a comfortable assurance that his designs would more than satisfy
his client.

But it was not that which made him so light of heart. That night his
rooms were to be honoured for the first time by Sylvia's presence. She
would tread upon his carpet, sit in his chairs, comment upon, and
perhaps even handle, his books and ornaments--and all of them would
retain something of her charm for ever after. If she only came! For even
now he could not quite believe that she really would; that some untoward
event would not make a point of happening to prevent her, as he
sometimes doubted whether his engagement was not too sweet and wonderful
to be true--or, at all events, to last.

As to the dinner, his mind was tolerably easy, for he had settled the
remaining details of the _menu_ with his landlady that morning, and he
could hope that without being so sumptuous as to excite the Professor's
wrath, it would still be not altogether unworthy--and what goods could
be rare and dainty enough?--to be set before Sylvia.

He would have liked to provide champagne, but he knew that wine would
savour of ostentation in the Professor's judgment, so he had contented
himself instead with claret, a sound vintage which he knew he could
depend upon. Flowers, he thought, were clearly permissible, and he had
called at a florist's on his way and got some chrysanthemums of palest
yellow and deepest terra-cotta, the finest he could see. Some of them
would look well