Page:Magdalen by J S Machar.pdf/19

 were married! I only laughed, for I am a doubting Thomas! He and marrying! Never, said I!”

A tall waiter lighted the three large chandeliers, and the parlor, with its gold-red wall paper and its multitude of small marble tables, was disclosed to the eye. Chromos of half-naked female figures in baroque frames looked down from the walls. A piano stood behind a drawn portiere. In the air was a strange odor of wine, tobacco, and the scent of unbraided hair.

My hero (my reader will forgive me for dragging him into parentheses, but these are my study, where I will converse at liberty with my reader without witnesses. So, this my “hero” is not a hero in the sense of those ancient romanticists; I call him so only by habit, before announcing his name), my hero seated himself in a corner, crossed his legs, placed his silk hat upon the table, cast his gloves into it, and smiled at the old woman who sat opposite him.