to choose them herself by
and by; but all these special things were to be served up, so to speak,
at the Hotel Pension Beau Soleil with early breakfast.

When he had finished,--which means, when he had bought everything he
could think of--Hugh looked at his watch. It was half an hour to the
minute since he had left his hotel.

"I don't see why it should take women a long time to shop," said he to
himself. "It seems to me the simplest thing in the world. You just see
what you want, and then you buy it."

It was not until all the boxes and parcels must have arrived in the
Condamine, that an agonizing thought struck Hugh. What if Evie should be
offended with him for buying her things to wear? What if she should
imagine him capable of thinking that the things she already had were not
good enough when she was coming out with him?

He suddenly felt a hundred years old. "Ass--worm--menagerie!" he
anathematized himself.

It was now nine thirty. At ten forty-five he was to call at the Hotel
Pension Beau Soleil, to take Evelyn and Rosemary to the English church.
How could he bear the suspense till then,--how endure it not to know
whether he had ruined the Christmas which was to have been so perfect?

He dashed into his own hotel, wrote five notes one after the other,
tearing up each one before it was finished. It was no good explaining.
If she didn't understand nothing would make her. But _would_ she
understand? He knew now why some women said that all men were fools.
They were quite right.

If he had dared, he would have gone to her at once, to be put out of
his misery, one way or the other. But he did not dare; so he waited,
until he had persuaded himself that not only his watch, but the hotel
clock and the Casino clock must be slow.

Then he started, and suffered five suffocating minutes in the public
sitting-room of the Beau Soleil. It was a hideous room, with abominable
flowers sprawling over the wall paper and carpet, and all the windows
were shut, but he did not notice these things; nor did he recognise the
heavy scent that hung in the air as that which Mademoiselle de Lavalette
affected. The lady of the roses had ceased to exist for him; but, if he
had thought of her at all, he would have been glad that he had opened
her pink leather bag when it was thin, and shut it up when it was very
fat.

At the end of the five minutes, the door opened, and gave to his eyes a
vision; Evelyn and Rosemary in their new dresse