“I shall tell her, sir?”
“Certainly. Did you make Miss Dulcie comfortable?”
“Yess, sir.”
“That’s right. Now, take that dress of Miss Dulcie’s, go out to some shop on Fifth Avenue, buy a pretty party gown of similar dimensions, and bring it back with you. Take a taxi both ways. Wait—take her stockings and slippers, too, and buy her some fine ones. And some underwear suitable.” He went to a desk, unlocked it, and handed the maid a flat packet of bank-notes. “Be sure the things are nice,” he insisted.
Selinda, starched, immaculate, frosty-eyed, marched out. She returned a few moments later, wearing jacket and hat.
“Sir, the lady on the telephone hass called again. The lady would inquire of Mr. Barres if perhaps he has recollection of the Fountain of Marie de Médicis.”
Barres reddened with surprise and pleasure:
“Oh! Yes, indeed, I’ll speak to that lady. Hang up 124 the service receiver, Selinda.” And he stepped to the studio telephone.
“Nihla?” he exclaimed in a low, eager voice.
“C’est moi, Thessa! Have you a letter from me?”