the Louis XVI sofa, and was flanked on the one side by a villainous
German print of "The Huntsman's Return" and on the other by a dainty
water-colour. Myriads of photographs, some in frames, met the eye
everywhere--on the grand piano, on the occasional tables, on the
mantelpiece, stuck obliquely all round the Queen Anne mirror above it,
on the walls. Many of them represented animals--bears and lions and
pawing horses. Dale's photograph I noticed in a silver frame on the
piano. There was not a book in the place. But in the corner of the room
by a further window gleamed a large marble Venus of Milo, charmingly
executed, who stood regarding the welter with eyes calm and unconcerned.

I was aroused from the momentary shock caused by the revelation of
this eccentric apartment by an unknown nauseous flavour in my mouth.
I realised it was the cigarette to which I had helped myself from the
beautifully chased silver casket I had taken from the mantelpiece. I
eyed the thing and concluded it was made of the very cheapest tobacco,
and was what the street urchin calls a "fag." I learned afterwards that
I was right. She purchased them at the rate of six for a penny, and
smoked them in enormous quantities. For politeness' sake I continued
to puff at the unclean thing until I nearly made myself sick. Then,
simulating absentmindedness, I threw it into the fire.

Why, in the sacred name of Nicotine, does a luxurious lady like Lola
Brandt smoke such unutterable garbage?

On the other hand, the tea which she offered us a few minutes later, and
begged us to drink without milk, was the most exquisite I have tasted
outside Russia. She informed us that she got it direct from Moscow.

"I can't stand your black Ceylon tea," she remarked, with a grimace.