and face the worst. Swinging lamps of silver, soft carpets,
silken curtains, only served to heighten his sensitiveness as to his
apparel and whole position.

He came back into the room. His anger was beginning to rise, the nervous
anger of a man who has made a fool of himself, upon whom a jest is being
played, and who finds himself in a false position.

Seeing an electric button by the fire place he went to it and pressed it
twice, hard, then he opened the second door of the room and found a bath
room.

A Pompeian bath room with tassellated floor, marble walls and marble
ceiling. The bath was sunk in the floor. Across hot water pipes, plated
with silver, hung towels of huck-a-back, white towels with cardinal red
fringes. Here too, most un-Pompeian stood a wonderful dressing table,
one solid slab of glass, with razors set out, manicure instruments,
brushes, powder pots, scent bottles.

Jones came into this place, walked round it like a cat in a strange
larder, gauged the depth of the bath, glanced at the things on the
table, and was in the act of picking up one of the manicure implements,
when a sound from the bed room drew his attention.

Someone was moving about there.

Someone who seemed altering the position of chairs and arranging things.

He judged it to be the servant who had answered the bell; he considered
that it was better to have the thing out now, and have done with it. He
wanted a full explanation, and bravely, but with the feelings of a man
who is entering a dental parlour, he came to the bath room door.

A pale faced, agile-looking young man with glossy black hair, a young
man in a sleeved waistcoat, a young man carrying a shirt and set of pink
silk undergarments over his left arm, was in the act of placing a pair
of patent leather boots with kid tops upon the floor. A gorgeous
dressing gown lay upon the bed. It had evidently been placed there by
the agile one.

Jones had intended to ask explanations. That intention shrivelled,
somehow, in the act of speech. What he uttered was a very mildly framed
request.

"Er--can I have my clothes, please?" said Jones.

"Yes, my Lord," replied the other. "I am placing them out."

The instantaneous anger raised by the patent fact that he was being
guyed by the second apparition was as instantly checked by the
recollection of Rochester. Here was another practical joke. This house
was evidently Rochester's--the whole thing was plain. Well, he would
show t