made him expect. What did I want to pose so to him for—as if papa were a wealthy man and all that? What will he think? The photograph of the Colosseum's a rather good thing, though. It helps some—as if we'd bought it in Rome perhaps. I hope he'll think so; he believes I've been abroad, of course. The other night he said, 'You remember the feeling you get in the Sainte-Chapelle'—There's another lie of mine, not saying I didn't remember because I'd never been there. What makes me do it? Papa must wear his evening clothes. But Walter———"
With that she recalled her mother's admonition, and went upstairs to Walter's door. She tapped upon it with her fingers.
"Time to get up, Walter. The rest of us had breakfast over half an hour ago, and it's nearly eight o'clock. You'll be late. Hurry down and I'll have some coffee and toast ready for you." There came no sound from within the room, so she rapped louder.
"Wake up, Walter!"
She called and rapped again, without getting any response, and then, finding that the door yielded to her, opened it and went in. Walter was not there.
He had been there, however; had slept upon the bed, though not inside the covers; and Alice supposed
