The man with Fortunatus' purse seemed bent on trying to empty
it--temporarily--for her benefit: if she had been sent out alone to buy
everything she had ever wanted, with no regard to expense, Annesley
Grayle would not have spent a fifth of the sum he flung away on evening
gowns, street gowns, boudoir gowns, hats, high-heeled paste-buckled
slippers, a gold-fitted dressing-bag, an ermine wrap, a fur-lined
motor-coat, and more suede gloves and silk stockings than could be used
(it seemed to the girl) in the next ten years.
He begged for the privilege of "helping choose," not because he didn't
trust her taste, but because he feared she might be economical; and
during the whole day in Bond Street, Regent Street, Oxford Street, and
Knightsbridge she was given only an hour to herself. That hour she was
expected to pass, and did pass, in providing herself with all sorts of
intimate daintiness of nainsook, lace, and ribbon, too sacred even for
a lover's eyes.
And Knight spent the time of his absence from her upon an errand which he
did not explain.
"I'll tell you what I did--and show you--to-morrow when I come to wish
you good morning," he said.
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