Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/135

Rh to be a good many of them, one at either side of the bed, one at either side of a tiny fireplace, and one at either side of an equally tiny writing-desk. And if Bud had seen that room he would undoubtedly have said, "Some crib, believe me!"

For that whole room, I saw, was done in old rose and cream. It had a cream and rose chaise-longue near an ivory colored reading-table, and rose-shaded electric reading-lamps, and a little Chinese pagoda of old rose to stow away the desk-telephone in. Then there were three rose and cream prayer-rugs and heavy rose-colored curtain draperies that reminded me of a glorified circus-wagon.

But the thing that hit my eye, from the first, was the bed itself. It was something to dream about. For it was the most gorgeous bed I've ever bumped into, barring not even that Du Barry contraption my old friend Leslie Carter used to throw fits on. I don't know whether it was a Louis-Quinze relic or a prize-winner from Grand Rapids. But I know that the head of it had carved Cupids mixed up with a lot of fruit and vines and two-legged goats playing flutes and interwoven flowers and ribands and gim-cracks. And the big heavy curtains were a sort of lilac red with flashes of gold and there was a cream and rose eider-down as light as sea- foam and