irregularities of shape, it was divided into corners. There were the two
bed-corners, which were lounge-corners during the day; the afternoon-tea
corner, with a piece or two of antique furniture and some old silk
hangings, where on high afternoons tea was given to droves of visitors; and
there was the culinary corner, with spirit-lamps, gas-rings, kettles, and a
bowl or two over which you might spend a couple of arduous hours in
ineffectually whipping up a mayonnaise for an impromptu lunch. Artistic
operations were carried out in the middle of the studio, not too far from
the stove, which never went out from November to May. A large mirror hung
paramount on one wall. The remaining spaces of the studio were filled with
old easels, canvases, old frames, old costumes and multifarious other
properties for pictures, trunks, lamps, boards, tables, and bric-à-brac
bought at the Ham-and-Old-Iron Fair. There were a million objects in the
studio, and their situations had to be, and were, learnt off by heart. The
scene of the toilette was a small attached chamber.

The housekeeping combined the simplicity of the early Christians with the
efficient organising of the twentieth century. It began at about half-past
seven, when unseen but heard beings left fresh rolls and the _New York
Herald_ or the _Daily Mail_ at the studio door. You made your own bed, just
as you cleaned your own boots or washed your own face. The larder
consisted of tins of coffee, tea, sugar, and cakes, with an intermittent
supply of butter and lemons. The infusing of tea and coffee was practised
in perfection. It mattered not in the least whether toilette or breakfast
came first, but it was exceedingly important that the care of the stove
should precede both. Between ten and eleven the concierge's wife arrived
with tools and utensils; she swept and dusted under a considerable
percentage of the million objects--and the responsibilities of housekeeping
were finished until the next day, for afternoon tea, if it occurred, was a
diversion and not a toil.