stepping
toward the bed, "Let's see what you got."

"Most of the things haven't come," said Alice. "The gowns all have to
be fitted.--That one is for to-night," she added, as he lifted up a
beautiful object made of rose-coloured chiffon.

Oliver studied it, and glanced once or twice at the girl. "I guess you
can carry it," he said. "What sort of a cloak are you to wear?"

"Oh, the cloak!" cried Alice. "Oliver, I can't believe it's really to
belong to me. I didn't know anyone but princesses wore such things."

The cloak was in Mrs. Montague's room, and one of the maids brought it
in. It was an opera-wrap of grey brocade, lined with unborn baby
lamb--a thing of a gorgeousness that made Montague literally gasp for
breath.

"Did you ever see anything like it in your life?" cried Alice. "And
Oliver, is it true that I have to have gloves and shoes and
stockings--and a hat--to match every gown?"

"Of course." said Oliver. "If you were doing things right, you ought to
have a cloak to match each evening gown as well."

"It seems incredible," said the girl. "Can it be right to spend so much
money for things to wear?"

But Oliver was not discussing questions of ethics; he was examining
sets of tinted crepe de chine lingerie, and hand-woven hose of spun
silk. There were boxes upon boxes, and bureau drawers and closet
shelves already filled up with hand-embroidered and lace-trimmed
creations-chemises and corset-covers, night-robes of "handkerchief
linen" lawn, lace handkerchiefs and veils, corsets of French coutil,
dressing-jackets of pale-coloured silks, and negligees of soft
batistes, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, or even with fur.

"You must have put in a full day," he said.

"I never looked at so many things in my life," said Alice. "And Mr.
Mann never stopped to ask the price of a thing."

"I didn't think to tell him to," said Oliver, laughing.

Then the girl went in to dress--and Oliver faced about to find his
brother sitting and staring hard at him.

"Tell me!" Montague exclaimed. "In God's name, what is all this to
cost?"

"I don't know," said Oliver, impassively. "I haven't seen the bills.
It'll be fifteen or twenty thousand, I guess."

Montague's hands clenched involuntarily, and he sat rigid. "How long
will it all last her?" he asked.

"Why," said the other, "when she gets enough, it'll last her until
spring, of course--unless she goes South during the winter."

"How much is it going to take to dr