hton saw the bedroom--the whole of it--before he consciously
saw Folly. The first impression that the room gave was one of fresh
air--the weighted air of a garden in bloom, however, rather than that of
some wind-swept plain. The next, was one of an even and almost stolid
tone, neither feminine nor masculine, in the furnishings. They were
masterfully impersonal.

To Leighton, who had had the run of every grade of greasy, professional
dressing-room, chaotic and slovenly beyond description, and of boudoirs,
professional and otherwise, each in its appropriate measure a mirror of
the character of its occupant, the detachment of this big room came as a
shock. There were only eight pieces of furniture, of which four were
chairs, yet there was no sense of emptiness. The proportions of the
remaining objects would have dwarfed a far larger space.

Along the whole length of one wall stood an enormous press in mahogany,
with sliding-doors. Two of the doors were slightly open, for Folly knew
that clothes, like people and flowers, need a lot of air. Leighton
caught a glimpse of filmy nothings hanging on racks; of other nothings,
mostly white, stacked on deep shelves; of a cluster of hats clinging
like orchids to invisible bumps; and last and least, of tiny slippers
all in a row.

At right angles to the press, but well away from it, stood a
dressing-table surmounted by a wide, low swivel-mirror. The table was
covered with tapestry under glass. The dull gleam of the tapestry seemed
to tone down and control the glittering array of toilet articles in
monogrammed gold. Facing the press, stood a large trinity cheval-glass,
with swinging wings. In the center of the room was the bed. Behind the
bed and on each side of it were two high windows. They carried no
hangings, but were fitted with three shades, differing in weight and
color, and with adjustable porcelain Venetian blinds which could be made
to exclude light without excluding air.

Folly's bed was a mighty structure. Like the rest of the furniture, it
was of mahogany. It was a four-poster, but posts would be a misleading
term applied to the four fluted pillars that carried the high canopy.
The canopy itself was trimmed with no tassels or hangings except for a
single band of thick tapestry brought just low enough to leave the
casual observer in doubt as to whether there really was a canopy at all.

Having taken in all the surroundings at a glance, Leighton's eyes
finally fell upon