"Ah, but ours is a very special one," said the lady.--"And some
day, if you'll be very good, and promise not to tell anyone, I'll
let you see my own bath. Perhaps they've told you, I have one in my
own apartments, cut out of a block of the most wonderful green
marble."

Montague showed the expected amount of astonishment.

"Of course that gave the dreadful newspapers another chance to
gossip," said Mrs. Winnie, plaintively. "People found out what I had
paid for it. One can't have anything beautiful without that question
being asked."

And then followed a silence, while Mrs. Winnie waited for him to ask
it. As he forebore to do so, she added, "It was fifty thousand
dollars."

They were moving towards the elevator, where a small boy in the
wonderful livery of plush and scarlet stood at attention.
"Sometimes," she continued, "it seems to me that it is wicked to pay
such prices for things. Have you ever thought about it?"

"Occasionally," Montague replied.

"Of course," said she, "it makes work for people; and I suppose they
can't be better employed than in making beautiful things. But
sometimes, when I think of all the poverty there is, I get unhappy.
We have a winter place down South--one of those huge country-houses
that look like exposition buildings, and have rooms for a hundred