on't disturb her! You said she was in her bath.'

'Oh, that has no importance!' the man cried cheerfully, and disappeared
at once.

Margaret looked about her, but if she had been blind she would have
been aware that she was in a place quite unlike any she had ever been
in before. The air had an indescribable odour that was almost a taste;
it smelt of Houbigant, Greek tobacco, Persian carpets, women's clothes,
liqueur and late hours; and it was not good to breathe--except,
perhaps, for people used to the air of the theatre. Margaret at first
saw nothing particular to sit upon, and stood still.

It was a big room, with two very large windows on one side, a massive
chimney-piece at the end opposite the door, and facing the windows the
most enormous divan Margaret had ever seen. Over this a great canopy
was stretched, a sort of silk awning of which the corners were
stretched out and held up by more or less mediaeval lances. The divan
itself was so high that an ordinary person would have to climb upon it,
and it was completely covered by a wild confusion of cushions of all
colours, thrown upon it and piled up, and tumbling off, as if a Homeric
pillow fight had just been fought upon it by several scores of vigorous
school-girls.

The room was plethoric with artistic objects, some good, some bad, some
atrocious, but all recalling the singer's past triumphs, and all
jumbled together, on tables, easels, pedestals, brackets and shelves
with much less taste than an average dealer in antiquities would have
shown in arranging his wares. There was not even light enough to see
them distinctly, for the terrifically heavy and expensive Genoa velvet
curtains produced a sort of dingy twilight. Moreover the Persian carpet
was so extremely thick that Margaret almost turned her ankle as she
made a step upon it.

As she knew that she must probably wait some time she looked for a
seat. There were a few light chairs here and there, but they were
occupied by various objects; on one a framed oil-painting was waiting
till a place could be found for it, on another there was a bandbox, on
a third lay some sort of garment that might be an opera-cloak or a
tea-gown, or a theatrical dress, a little silver tray with the remains
of black coffee and an empty liqueur glass stood upon a fourth chair,
and Margaret's searching eye discovered a fifth, with nothing on it,
pushed away in a corner.

She took hold of it by the back, to bring it forward a li