"What a darling you are, little big man! Yet you never make very definite remarks about my clothes." He put his hands on his hips and looked her up and down approvingly.
"Because I only see a general effect, but I always remember colour.
Tell me, have you ever sold your clothes to the Mart, or whatever the miserable coffin-shop is called ?" "Well, not directly." "What do you mean by 'not directly' ?" "Well, I didn't sell them, but they were sold for me." She hesitated, then went on hurriedly.

"Adrian Fellowes knew of a very sad case--a girl in the opera who had had misfortune, illness, and bad luck; and he suggested it.

He said he didn't like to ask for a cheque, because we were always giving, but selling my old wardrobe would be a sort of lucky find--that's what he called it." Byng nodded, with a half-frown, however.

"That was ingenious of Fellowes, and thoughtful, too.

Now, what does a gown cost, one like that you have on ?" "This--let me see.