Chapter8

    Itwaslongpastnoonwhenheawoke.Hisvalethadcreptseveraltimesontiptoeintotheroomtoseeifhewasstirring,andhadwonderedwhatmadehisyoungmastersleepsolate.Finallyhisbellsounded,andVieinsoftlyoftea,andapileofletters,onasmalltrayofoldSevresa,anddrewbacktheolive-satincurtains,withtheirshimmeringbluelining,thathunginfrontofthethreetallwindows.

    "Monsieurhaswellsleptthism,"hesaid,smiling.

    "Whatoclockisit,Victor?"askedDraydrowsily.

    "Onehourandaquarter,Monsieur."

    Howlateitwas!Hesatup,andhavingsippedsometea,turnedoverhisletters.OhemwasfromLordHenry,andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatm.Hehesitatedforamoment,aitaside.Theothersheopenedlistlessly.Theytaiheusualcolleofcards,invitationstodiicketsforprivateviews,programmesofcharitycerts,andthelikethatareshoweredonfashionableyoungmeneverymduringtheseason.TherewasaratherheavybillforachasedsilverLouis-Quioilet-setthathehadhadthecetosendontohisguardians,whowereextremelyold-fashionedpeopleanddidnotrealizethatweliveinanagewhenunnecessarythingsareouronlyies;andtherewereseveralverycourteouslywordedunicationsfromJermymoney-lenderstoadvanysumofmoamomentsnotidatthemostreasoesofi.

    Afterabouttenminuteshegotup,andthrowingonanelaboratedressing-gownofsilk-embroideredcashmerewool,passedintotheonyx-pavedbathroom.Thecoolwaterrefreshedhimafterhislongsleep.Heseemedtohavefottenallthathehadgohrough.Adimsenseofhavingtakenpartiraragedycametohimowice,buttherewastheuyofadreamaboutit.

    Assoonashew