“I’ve never cared for white,” she said, in final protest. “Not since I was married.”
Reminded of Mr. Cleghorne’s existence in the basement, she hurried forthwith to rout him out. As she disappeared, Michael saw that she was searching in the musty folds of her skirt in order to deposit in her purse the month’s rent he had paid in advance.
A couple of weeks passed while the decorators worked hard; and Michael returned from an unwilling visit to Scotland to find them ready for him. He got together a certain amount of furniture, and toward the end of August he moved into Leppard Street.
Barnes on account of the prosperity which had come to him through Michael’s money had managed to dress himself in a series of outrageously new and fashionable suits, and on the afternoon of his patron’s arrival he strutted about the apartments.
“Very nice,” he said. “Very nice, indeed. I reckon old Ma Cleghorne ought to be very pleased with herself. Some of these pictures are a bit too religious for me just at present, but everyone to their own taste, that’s what I always say. To their own taste,” he repeated. “Otherwise, what’s the good in being given an opinion of your own?”
Michael felt it was time to explain to Barnes more particularly his quest of Lily.
“You don’t know a girl called Lily Haden?” he asked.
“Lily Haden,” said Barnes thoughtfully. “Lily Hopkins. A great fat girl with red....”
“No, no,” Michael interrupted. “Lily Haden. Tall. Slim. Very fair hair. Of course she may have another name now.”
“That’s it, you see,” said Barnes wisely.