Barnes, will ye, and fetch me from Mr. De Soto's room when you've
finished. I leave you to Dabson's tender mercies. The saints preserve
us! Look at the man's boots! Dabson, get out your brush and dauber
first of all. He's been floundering in a bog."
The jovial Irishman retired, leaving Barnes to be "done" by the
silent, swift-moving valet. Dabson was young and vigorous and
exceedingly well-trained. He made short work of "doing" the visitor;
barely fifteen minutes elapsed before O'Dowd's return.
Presently they went downstairs together. Lamps had been lighted, many
of them, throughout the house. A warm, pleasing glow filled the rooms,
softening,--one might even say tempering,--the insistent reds in the
rugs, which now seemed to reflect rather than to project their hues; a
fire crackled in the cavernous fireplace at the end of the living-
room, and grouped about its cheerful, grateful blaze were the ladies
of Green Fancy.
Barnes was aware of a quickening of his pulses as he advanced with
O'Dowd. De Soto was there ahead of them, posed ungracefully in front
of the fire, his feet widespread, his hands in his pockets. Another
man, sallow-faced and tall, with a tired looking blond moustache and
sleepy eyes, was managing, with amazing skill, the retention of a
cigarette which seemed to be constantly in peril of detaching itself
from his parted though inactive lips.
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