IV
A LITTLE MILLIONAIRE
"Gabrielle."
"Oui, mademoiselle Hazel," came in shrill yet muffled tones from the depths of the dressing-room closet.
"Bring me my white silk kimono."
"Oui, mademoiselle."
The order, in French, was given in a weak and slightly fretful voice that issued from the bed at the farther end of a large room from which the dressing-room opened. The apartment was, in truth, what Doctor Heath had called it, "a nest of luxury."
It was a bitter Saint Valentine's Day which succeeded the Doctor's evening visit. The wood-fire, blazing cheerily in the ample fireplace, sent its warmth and light far out into the room, flashing red reflections in the curiously twisted bars of the brass bedstead. At the left of the fireplace stood a small round tea-table, and upon it a little silver tea-kettle on a standard of the same metal. Dainty cups and saucers of egg-shell china were grouped about it; a miniature silver tray held a sugar-dish and a cream-pot and a half-dozen gold-lined souvenir spoons.
On the richly carved mantel stood an exquisite plate-glass clock, the chimes of which were just striking nine,
