"But suppose I don't like it," she objected. "You told me I might choose, and I'm sure there is nothing in this dusty, musty rat cupboard of a place." "I'll arrange that it can be changed. Or I'll get something you do like as well," he added, with ridiculous vainglory, for his hundred pounds were ebbing faster than the sands of time. "Very well," said Peronella, half convinced and pouting. "If you don't want me, I'll go." And more in pique than compliance she left him alone with the fine young shopman, who was really a remarkably graceful young man, and one who obviously had no doubts as to his own good looks. Indeed he had ostentatiously set them off by wearing the national costume of Alsander--puffed breeches, pleated silk shirt, and a short loose coat with wing-like sleeves, of dark blue gracefully lined with gold. This costume appeared all the more striking to Norman, as he had never seen one before; for it is rarely worn by the Alsandrians except on ceremonial occasions. "What service can I be to you, sir?" said Norman. Himself a shopkeeper, he knew the value of a gentlemanly treatment, and did not allow his curiosity to get the better either of his self-control or of his manners. "The question," replied the dealer in antiques, in a very soft and gentle voice, "is not so much what you can do for me as what you can do for yourself." "And what can I do for myself?" inquired Norman, wondering at the fine but feminine beauty of the young man. "The question is not really so much what you can do for yourself as what you can do for Alsander." "The question is," retorted Norman, with some heat, "exactly how long the pantomime season is going to last?" "The reply in general is for as long as woman gives birth to child: in particular, for as long as the A.A.A. is uncertain of your devotion." "And what is the A.A.A.?" "It is," replied the shopman, "the Association for the Advancement of Alsander." "I am sure that it is an admirable society." "Like all earthly institutions," observed the dandified young shopman, with a sententiousness ill befitting his years, "it has its defects, but want of precaution is not one of them." "And where does it meet?" "Here," said the shopman, briefly. "And when does it meet?" "Now," was the reply, followed almost immediately by a clatter and a crash as if all the machinery of a steam-mill had started with a jerk. Norman had just time to see the shutters going down; then he found himself in total darkness.