there was a soft roseate hue through the room. Mr. Gorby put his hands
in his capacious pockets, and strolled leisurely through the room,
examining everything with a curious eye. The walls were covered with
pictures of celebrated horses and famous jockeys. Alternating with
these were photographs of ladies of the stage, mostly London actresses,
Nellie Farren, Kate Vaughan, and other burlesque stars, evidently being
the objects of the late Mr. Whyte's adoration. Over the mantelpiece
hung a rack of pipes, above which were two crossed foils, and under
these a number of plush frames of all colours, with pretty faces
smiling out of them; a remarkable fact being, that all the photographs
were of ladies, and not a single male face was to be seen, either on
the walls or in the plush frames.

"Fond of the ladies, I see," said Mr. Gorby, nodding his head towards
the mantelpiece.

"A set of hussies," said Mrs. Hableton grimly, closing her lips
tightly. "I feel that ashamed when I dusts 'em as never was--I don't
believe in gals gettin' their picters taken with 'ardly any clothes on,
as if they just got out of bed, but Mr. Whyte seems to like 'em."

"Most young men do," answered Mr. Gorby dryly, going over to the
bookcase.

"Brutes," said the lady of the house. "I'd drown 'em in the Yarrer, I
would, a settin' 'emselves and a callin' 'emselves lords of creation,
as if women were made for nothin' but to earn money 'an see 'em drink
it, as my 'usband did, which 'is inside never seemed to 'ave enough
beer, an' me a poor lone woman with no family, thank God, or they'd
'ave taken arter their father in 'is drinkin' 'abits."