I wouldn't let her tell of course."
She created fashions and was imitated as was the Head of the House
of Coombe but she was enraptured by the fact and the entire power
of such gray matter as was held by her small brain cells was
concentrated upon her desire to evolve new fantasies and amazements
for her world.
Before he had been married for a year there began to creep into the
mind of Bob Gareth-Lawless a fearsome doubt remotely hinting that
she might end by becoming an awful bore in the course of
time--particularly if she also ended by being less pretty. She
chattered so incessantly about nothing and was such an empty-headed,
extravagant little fool in her insistence on clothes--clothes--clothes--as
if they were the breath of life. After watching her for about two
hours one morning as she sat before her mirror directing her maid
to arrange and re-arrange her hair in different styles--in delicate
puffs and curls and straying rings--soft bands and loops--in braids
and coils--he broke forth into an uneasy short laugh and expressed
himself--though she did not know he was expressing himself and
would not have understood him if she had.
"If you have a soul--and I'm not at all certain you have--" he
said, "it's divided into a dressmaker's and a hairdresser's and
a milliner's shop. It's full of tumbled piles of hats and frocks
and diamond combs.
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