Part 6 (1/2)

”I don't know,” said the girl. ”He's queer--I never met a man like that before. But he was awfully kind; and the people just turned their stores inside out for us--half a dozen people hurrying about to wait on you at once!”

”You'll get used to such things,” said Oliver; and then, 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 G.o.d's name, what is all this to cost?”

”I don't know,” said Oliver, impa.s.sively. ”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 dress her for a year?”

”I suppose thirty or forty thousand,” was the reply. ”I don't expect to keep count.”

Montague sat in silence. ”You don't want to shut her up and keep her at home, do you?” inquired his brother, at last.

”Do you mean that other women spend that much on clothes?” he demanded.

”Of course,” said Oliver, ”hundreds of them. Some spend fifty thousand--I know several who go over a hundred.”

”It's monstrous!” Montague exclaimed.