And, basking in Gerrit's praise, he rang, while pulling on his trousers, and told the maid to bring his breakfast:
"I'll only take a hurried bite," he said, amiably, just bending the points of his stand-up collar at the tips.
Then he picked out a tie, in a large Japanese box.
"By Jove, what a number of ties you have!"
"Yes, I have a lot of them," said Paul, proudly. "They're my only luxury."
And in fact, when the maid pushed back the folding-doors, revealing the sitting-room, which Paul, loathing other people's furniture, had furnished himself, in addition to his other two rooms, Gerrit was struck with the plainness of it: comfortable, but exceedingly simple.
"I adore pretty things," said Paul, "just as much as our mad Ernst. But I can't afford them: I haven't the money."
"Why, you have the same income that he has."
"Yes, but he doesn't dress. To dress yourself well is expensive."
Paul's dressing was now finished; and he had turned up the bottoms of his trousers very high, showing nearly the whole of his well-cut button-boots. He merely drank a cup of tea, ate a piece of dry bread.
