"Yes, I have a lot of them," said Paul, proudly. "They're my only luxury."
And in fact, when the maid pushed back the folding-doors, revealing the sitting-room, which Paul, loathing other people's furniture, had furnished himself, in addition to his other two rooms, Gerrit was struck with the plainness of it: comfortable, but exceedingly simple.
"I adore pretty things," said Paul, "just as much as our mad Ernst. But I can't afford them: I haven't the money."
"Why, you have the same income that he has."
"Yes, but he doesn't dress. To dress yourself well is expensive."
Paul's dressing was now finished; and he had turned up the bottoms of his trousers very high, showing nearly the whole of his well-cut button-boots. He merely drank a cup of tea, ate a piece of dry bread.
"Butter's so greasy," he said, "when you've just brushed your teeth."
And he went back to his bathroom to rinse his mouth once more.
He was ready now, took his umbrella and followed Gerrit down the stairs. Gerrit opened the door.
"What beastly weather!" growled Paul, furiously, in the passage.