The bedroom was small and contained nothing but a brass bedstead, a walnut looking-glass wardrobe, a walnut table and two chairs. There was not a single object lying about. The pillows on the bed showed just the faintest impress of Paul's head; the bed-clothes he had thrown well back, when he got up, very neatly, as though to avoid creasing them.
Gerrit heard the ripple of water in the dressing-room. It was as if Paul were squeezing out the sponge with exquisite precaution, so as not to splash a single drop outside his tub. The bath lasted a long time. Then all was silence.
"Can't you hurry a bit?" cried Gerrit, impatiently.
"All right," Paul called back, in placid tones.
"What are you up to? I don't hear you moving."
"I'm doing my feet."
"My dear fellow, can't you get on a bit faster? Or shall I go on?"
"No, no, I wouldn't miss going with you. But I must get dressed first, mustn't I?"
"But can't you make haste about it?"
"Very well, I'll hurry."