“Poor Miss Gretry!” he observed. “Always the square peg in the round hole. I’ve sent out for some smelling salts.”

It seemed to Laura that the capitalist was especially well-looking on this particular evening. He never dressed with the smartness of Sheldon Corthell or Landry Court, but in some way she did not expect that he should. His clothes were not what she was aware were called “stylish,” but she had had enough experience with her own tailor-made gowns to know that the material was the very best that money could buy. The apparent absence of any padding in the broad shoulders of the frock coat he wore, to her mind, more than compensated for the ready-made scarf, and if the white waistcoat was not fashionably cut, she knew that she had never been able to afford a pique skirt of just that particular grade.

“Suppose we go into the reception-room,” he observed abruptly. “Charlie bought a new clock last week that’s a marvel. You ought to see it.”