Of course it could be remedied in the future; but how terribly the fact reflected upon the past, and fancy the figure he should have made in Rathclare if he, when there, had only known as much as he did now. Imagine how ladies would have stared and admired if he had but appeared in a costume such as he was now hastening to assume. Dainty shoes, clocked socks, trousers that fitted the limb as the daintiest of gloves fit the hands of the daintiest of duchesses, coat and waistcoat which could only be put on before meals and when the lungs were empty, collars and scarfs designed by Royal Academicians and tenderly executed by tradespeople who might, if they would, have written sartorial epics; such were the splendours now preparing for his exquisite person. Apart from the cares born of his tailor and outfitter, certain other little matters had to be arranged about his room. A Japanese letter-rack had to be purchased and hung up for the reception of his prospective love-letters. Open work, china dishes of elegant hues, although of cheap manufacture, had to be obtained and set forth for the reception of rose-leaves, photographs, and cards. The portraits of celebrated beauties had to be hung up, so that, should an acquaintance drop into his room, he might have an opportunity of showing his visitor the counterpart of his dearest friends. His fellow-clerks were coarse enough to consider him a humbug. His superiors at the office did not know whether he was an ass or not; but the clerks and the superiors agreed that he had two priceless virtues--he could tot all day long without making an error, and there was not a spot of extraneous ink on any folio of his books. By this time Lavirotte was thoroughly restored to health. Daily he paid a visit to Dora. The course of their true love was running with idyllic smoothness. No suitor could be more tender, enthusiastic, constant-minded than he. Dora's life was one long daydream. Her former solitary life in London now seemed to her like a dreary unreality, forced upon her imagination merely that her present life might stand out in glory against so gray and sad a background. Since Lavirotte left London of old, the place had grown dull and dismal around her. Now the whole city was bright and joyous once again. Instead of being a vast chasm filled with unfamiliar things and unfriendly forms, and dark with her inner solitude, the buildings now were full of vital beauty, and the people of courteous friendliness. Although she looked forward with pleasant anticipations to the time when she would not be even temporarily separated from Dominique, she could not persuade herself that the future would be more happy than the present. She seemed to want nothing now beyond just a little more of his society.