umer," as the elaborate
mirror was termed. He looked himself over, and then he looked at his
brother. Oliver's clothing was a little like the Circassian walnut; at
first you thought that it was simple, and even a trifle careless--it
was only by degrees you realized that it was original and
distinguished, and very expensive.

"Won't your New York friends make allowance for the fact that I am
fresh from the country?" asked Montague, quizzically.

"They might," was the reply. "I know a hundred who would lend me money,
if I asked them. But I don't ask them."

"Then how soon shall I be able to appear?" asked Montague, with visions
of himself locked up in the room for a week or two.

"You are to have three suits to-morrow morning," said Oliver. "Genet
has promised."

"Suits made to order?" gasped the other, in perplexity.

"He never heard of any other sort of suits," said Oliver, with grave
rebuke in his voice.

M. Genet had the presence of a Russian grand duke, and the manner of a
court chamberlain. He brought a subordinate to take Montague's measure,
while he himself studied his colour-scheme. Montague gathered from the
conversation that he was going to a house-party in the country the next
morning, and that he would need a dress-suit, a hunting-suit, and a
"morning coat." The rest might wait until his return. The two discussed
him and his various "points" as they might have discussed a horse; he
possessed distinction, he learned, and a great deal could be done with
him--with a little skill he might be made into a personality. His
French was not in training, but he managed to make out that it was M.
Genet's opinion that the husbands of New York would tremble when he
made his appearance among them.

When the tailor had left, Alice came in, with her face shining from a
cold bathing. "Here you are decking yourselves out!" she cried. "And
what about me?"

"Your problem is harder," said Oliver, with a laugh; "but you begin
this afternoon. Reggie Mann is going to take you with him, and get you
some dresses."

"What!" gasped Alice. "Get me some dresses! A man?"

"Of course," said the other. "Reggie Mann advises half the women in New
York about their clothes."

"Who is he? A tailor?" asked the girl.

Oliver was sitting on the edge of the canape, swinging one leg over the
other; and he stopped abruptly and stared, and then sank back, laughing
softly to himself. "Oh, dear me!" he said. "Poor Reggie!"

Then, realizi