“Not at all,” said Blanche stoutly. “If they don’t like your taste, that’s their funeral. They shouldn’t have bought it. But they will. You’ve a splendid eye. Besides, they won’t know any better. And we must ask a wicked price, otherwise no one will buy. The world takes you at your own valuation—always. I forget who said that, but he knew. Besides, we must become the vogue: and you can’t do that unless you’re irrationally dear. Once you’re off it’s too easy. People will simply love to be able to say, ‘This is a Cheviot room,’ because it’ll be tantamount to saying, ‘I’m so rich that I blued a hundred on this room before ever the paper went up.’” “It’s a hundred now,” said Titus. “I’m getting all hot in the palms. Never mind. Ramp or no, I’m beginnin’ to see your point. An’, to tell you the truth, I could do with a bit of work—nice, gentle exercise, you know, entailing extended week-ends and entirely suspended during the more important race-meetings.” “That’s the idea,” said Blanche. “Now what about a pitch?” Her husband looked down his nose. “That telephone-call was from Forsyth. He wants to know if I’ll take five hundred a year for——” Blanche leaped to her feet. “Not 68, Old Bond Street?” Titus nodded. “Only the shop, you know. The rest of it’s let. Nearly half our income comes from that little old house.” Blanche danced across the room and took his face in her hands. “It’s kept us long enough.” She bent and kissed him. “Let’s keep it instead.” * * * * * Had the Cheviots opened a shop because they _had_ to make money, they would almost certainly have failed. For one thing, that fair-weather friend, Confidence, would have let them down. As it was, entering the arena of Commerce to kill a time which was waxing obstreperous and being not at all desirous of too extensive a _clientèle_, they were immediately successful beyond all understanding. This, in a way, was no more than they deserved. To say that they did things in style conveys nothing at all. Within one week of the cold June morning when the curtain rose upon 68, Old Bond Street, the name of Cheviot had become a household word. It had become a synonym for ‘_de luxe_.’ The window was admirably dressed.