"Them camels come back for the things this afternoon, sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, "and it put me in a fluster at first, for I made sure you'd locked your door and took the key. But I must have been mistook--leastways, them Arabs got in somehow. I hope you meant everything to go back?" "Quite," said Horace; "I saw the--the person who sent them this morning, and told him there was nothing I cared for enough to keep." "And like his impidence sending you a lot o' rubbish like that on approval--and on camels, too!" declared Mrs. Rapkin. "I'm sure I don't know what them advertising firms will try next--pushing, _I_ call it." Now that everything was gone, Horace felt a little natural regret and doubt whether he need have been quite so uncompromising in his refusal of the treasures. "I might have kept some of those tissues and things for Sylvia," he thought; "and she loves pearls. And a prayer-carpet would have pleased the Professor tremendously. But no, after all, it wouldn't have done. Sylvia couldn't go about in pearls the size of new potatoes, and the Professor would only have ragged me for more reckless extravagance. Besides, if I'd taken any of the Jinnee's gifts, he might keep on pouring more in, till I should be just where I was before--or worse off, really, because I couldn't decently refuse them, then. So it's best as it is." And really, considering his temperament and the peculiar nature of his position, it is not easy to see how he could have arrived at any other conclusion. CHAPTER VIII BACHELOR'S QUARTERS Horace was feeling particularly happy as he walked back the next evening to Vincent Square. He had the consciousness of having done a good day's work, for the sketch-plans for Mr. Wackerbath's mansion were actually completed and despatched to his business address, while Ventimore now felt a comfortable assurance that his designs would more than satisfy his client. But it was not that which made him so light of heart. That night his rooms were to be honoured for the first time by Sylvia's presence. She would tread upon his carpet, sit in his chairs, comment upon, and perhaps even handle, his books and ornaments--and all of them would retain something of her charm for ever after. If she only came! For even now he could not quite believe that she really would; that some untoward event would not make a point of happening to prevent her, as he sometimes doubted whether his engagement was not too sweet and wonderful to be true--or, at all events, to last. As to the dinner, his mind was tolerably easy, for he had settled the remaining details of the _menu_ with his landlady that morning, and he could hope that without being so sumptuous as to excite the Professor's wrath, it would still be not altogether unworthy--and what goods could be rare and dainty enough?--to be set before Sylvia.