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McMurray. Heaven be thanked, thought I, for letting me take her
little boy the day before yesterday to see the other animals, and
thus winning a mother's heart. She will help me out of my
dilemma. Unfortunately she was not alone. Her husband, who is
on the staff of a morning newspaper, was breakfasting when I
arrived. He is a great ruddy bearded giant with a rumbling
thunder of a laugh like the bass notes of an organ. His
assertion of the masculine principle in brawn and beard and bass
somewhat overpowers a nonmuscular, cleanshaven, and tenor
person like myself. Mrs. McMurray, on the contrary, is a small,
bright bird of a woman.
I told my amazing story from beginning to end, interrupted by
many Hoooooooo's from McMurray.
You may laugh, said I, but to have a mythical being out of
Olympiodorus quartered on you for life is no jesting matter.
Olymp? began McMurray.
Yes, I snapped.
Bring her this afternoon, Sir Marcus, when this unsympathetic
wretch has gone to his club, said his wife, and I'll take her
out shopping.
But, dear lady, I cried in despair, she has but one garment
and that a silk dressinggown of horrible depravity that
belonged to a dancer of the second Empire! She is also barefoot.
Then I'll come round myself and see what can be done.
And by Jove, so will I! cried McMurray.
You'll do such thing, said his wife
If I gave you a cheque for 100, said I, do you think you
could get her what she wants, to go on with?
A hundred pounds! The little lady uttered a delighted gasp and
I thought she would have kissed me. McMurray brought his
sledgehammer of a hand down on my shoulder.
Man! he roared. Do you know what you are doingcasting a
respectable wife and mother of a family loose among London
drapery shops with a hundred pounds in her pocket? Do you think
she will henceforward give a thought to her home or husband? Do
you want to ruin my domestic peace, drive me to drink, and wreck
my household?
If you do that again, said I, rubbing my shoulder, I'll give
her two hundred.
When I returned Carlotta was sitting, Turkish fashion, on a sofa,
smoking a cigarette (to which she had helped herself out of my
box) and turning over the pages of a book. This sign of literary
taste surprised me. But I soon found it was the second volume of
my _edition de luxe_ of Louandre's _Les Arts Somptuaires_, to
whose place on the shelves sheer feminine instinct must have
guided her. I announced Mrs. McMurray's proposed visit. She

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