"I don't know," said the girl. "He's queer--I never met a man like that before. But he was awfully kind; and the people just turned their stores inside out for us--half a dozen people hurrying about to wait on you at once!"

"You'll get used to such things," said Oliver; and then, stepping toward the bed, "Let's see what you got."

"Most of the things haven't come," said Alice. "The gowns all have to be fitted.--That one is for to-night," she added, as he lifted up a beautiful object made of rose-coloured chiffon.

Oliver studied it, and glanced once or twice at the girl. "I guess you can carry it," he said. "What sort of a cloak are you to wear?"

"Oh, the cloak!" cried Alice. "Oliver, I can't believe it's really to belong to me. I didn't know anyone but princesses wore such things."

The cloak was in Mrs. Montague's room, and one of the maids brought it in. It was an opera-wrap of grey brocade, lined with unborn baby lamb--a thing of a gorgeousness that made Montague literally gasp for breath.

"Did you ever see anything like it in your life?" cried Alice. "And Oliver, is it true that I have to have gloves and shoes and stockings--and a hat--to match every gown?"

"Of course." said Oliver. "If you were doing things right, you ought to have a cloak to match each evening gown as well."

"It seems incredible," said the girl. "Can it be right to spend so much money for things to wear?"

But Oliver was not discussing questions of ethics; he was examining sets of tinted crepe de chine lingerie, and hand-woven hose of spun silk. There were boxes upon boxes, and bureau drawers and closet shelves already filled up with hand-embroidered and lace-trimmed creations-chemises and corset-covers, night-robes of "handkerchief linen" lawn, lace handkerchiefs and veils, corsets of French coutil, dressing-jackets of pale-coloured silks, and negligees of soft batistes, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, or even with fur.

"You must have put in a full day," he said.

"I never looked at so many things in my life," said Alice. "And Mr.

Mann never stopped to ask the price of a thing."

"I didn't think to tell him to," said Oliver, laughing.

Then the girl went in to dress--and Oliver faced about to find his brother sitting and staring hard at him.

"Tell me!" Montague exclaimed. "In G.o.d's name, what is all this to cost?"

"I don't know," said Oliver, impa.s.sively. "I haven't seen the bills.

It'll be fifteen or twenty thousand, I guess."

Montague's hands clenched involuntarily, and he sat rigid. "How long will it all last her?" he asked.

"Why," said the other, "when she gets enough, it'll last her until spring, of course--unless she goes South during the winter."

"How much is it going to take to dress her for a year?"

"I suppose thirty or forty thousand," was the reply. "I don't expect to keep count."

Montague sat in silence. "You don't want to shut her up and keep her at home, do you?" inquired his brother, at last.

"Do you mean that other women spend that much on clothes?" he demanded.

"Of course," said Oliver, "hundreds of them. Some spend fifty thousand--I know several who go over a hundred."

"It's monstrous!" Montague exclaimed.

"Fiddlesticks!" was the other's response. "Why, thousands of people live by it--wouldn't know anything else to do."

Montague said nothing to that. "Can you afford to have Alice compete with such women indefinitely?" he asked.

"I have no idea of her doing it indefinitely," was Oliver's reply. "I simply propose to give her a chance. When she's married, her bills will be paid by her husband."

"Oh," said the other, "then this layout is just for her to be exhibited in."

"You may say that," answered Oliver,--"if you want to be foolish. You know perfectly well that parents who launch their daughters in Society don't figure on keeping up the pace all their lifetimes."

"We hadn't thought of marrying Alice off," said Montague.

To which his brother replied that the best physicians left all they could to nature. "Suppose," said he, "that we just introduce her in the right set, and turn her loose and let her enjoy herself--and then cross the next bridge when we come to it?"

Montague sat with knitted brows, pondering.' He was beginning to see a little daylight now. "Oliver," he asked suddenly, "are you sure the stakes in this game aren't too big?"

"How do you mean?" asked the other.

"Will you be able to stay in until the show-down? Until either Alice or myself begins to bring in some returns?"

"Never worry about that," said the other, with a laugh.

"But hadn't you better take me into your confidence?" Montague persisted. "How many weeks can you pay our rent in this place? Have you got the money to pay for all these clothes?"

"I've got it," laughed the other--"but that doesn't say I'm going to pay it."

"Don't you have to pay your bills? Can we do all this upon credit?"

Oliver laughed again. "You go at me like a prosecuting attorney," he said. "I'm afraid you'll have to inquire around and learn some respect for your brother." Then he added, seriously, "You see, Allan, people like Reggie or myself are in position to bring a great deal of custom to tradespeople, and so they are willing to go out of their way to oblige us. And we have commissions of all sorts coming to us, so it's never any question of cash."

"Oh!" exclaimed the other, opening his eyes, "I see! Is that the way you make money?"

"It's one of the ways we save it," said Oliver. "It comes to the same thing."

"Do people know it?"

"Why, of course. Why not?"

"I don't know," said Montague. "It sounds a little queer."

"Nothing of the kind," said Oliver. "Some of the best people in New York do it. Strangers come to the city, and they want to go to the right places, and they ask me, and I send them. Or take Robbie Walling, who keeps up five or six establishments, and spends several millions a year. He can't see to it all personally--if he did, he'd never do anything else. Why shouldn't he ask a friend to attend to things for him? Or again, a new shop opens, and they want Mrs. Walling's trade for the sake of the advertising, and they offer her a discount and me a commission. Why shouldn't I get her to try them?"

"It's quite intricate," commented the other. "The stores have more than one price, then?"

"They have as many prices as they have customers," was the answer. "Why shouldn't they? New York is full of raw rich people who value things by what they pay. And why shouldn't they pay high and be happy? That opera-cloak that Alice has--Reval promised it to me for two thousand, and I'll wager you she'd charge some woman from b.u.t.te, Montana, thirty-five hundred for one just like it."

Montague got up suddenly. "Stop," he said, waving his hands. "You take all the bloom off the b.u.t.terfly's wings!"

He asked where they were going that evening, and Oliver said that they were invited to an informal dinner-party at Mrs. Winnie Duval's. Mrs.