"No," said Horace, "no. You--you'd be surprised if you knew how little." "I should have imagined," retorted the Professor, "that _any_ outlay on apartments which I presume you do not contemplate occupying for an extended period must be money thrown away. But, doubtless, you know best." "But your rooms are quite wonderful, Horace!" cried Sylvia, her charming eyes dilating with admiration. "And where, _where_ did you get that magnificent dressing-gown? I never saw anything so lovely in my life!" She herself was lovely enough in a billowy, shimmering frock of a delicate apple-green hue, her only ornament a deep-blue Egyptian scarab with spread wings, which was suspended from her neck by a slender gold chain. "I--I ought to apologise for receiving you in this costume," said Horace, with embarrassment; "but the fact is, I couldn't find my evening clothes anywhere, so--so I put on the first things that came to hand." "It is hardly necessary," said the Professor, conscious of being correctly clad, and unconscious that his shirt-front was bulging and his long-eared white tie beginning to work up towards his left jaw--"hardly necessary to offer any apology for the simplicity of your costume--which is entirely in keeping with the--ah--strictly Oriental character of your interior." "_I_ feel dreadfully out of keeping!" said Sylvia, "for there's nothing in the least Oriental about _me_--unless it's my scarab--and he's I don't know how many centuries behind the time, poor dear!" "If you said 'thousands of years,' my dear," corrected the Professor, "you would be more accurate. That scarab was taken out of a tomb of the thirteenth dynasty." "Well, I'm sure he'd rather be where he is," said Sylvia, and Ventimore entirely agreed with her. "Horace, I _must_ look at everything. How clever and original of you to transform an ordinary London house into this!" "Oh, well, you see," explained Horace, "it--it wasn't exactly done by me." "Whoever did it," said the Professor, "must have devoted considerable study to Eastern art and architecture. May I ask the name of the firm who executed the alterations?" "I really couldn't tell you, sir," answered Horace, who was beginning to understand how very bad a _mauvais quart d'heure_ can be. "You can't tell me!" exclaimed the Professor. "You order these extensive, and _I_ should say expensive, decorations, and you don't know the firm you selected to carry them out!" "Of course I _know_," said Horace, "only I don't happen to remember at this moment. Let me see, now. Was it Liberty? No, I'm almost certain it wasn't Liberty. It might have been Maple, but I'm not sure. Whoever did do it, they were marvellously cheap." "I am glad to hear it," said the Professor, in his most unpleasant tone. "Where is your dining-room?" "Why, I rather think," said Horace, helplessly, as he saw a train of attendants laying a round cloth on the floor, "I rather think _this_ is the dining-room."