CHAPTER IV
THE THREE NIECES
The Von Taers did not affect motor cars. In some circles the carriageand pair is still considered the more aristocratic mode of conveyance.Established customs do not readily give way to fads and freaks.
Consulting her memoranda as she rode along; in her handsome, tastefullyappointed equipage, Diana found that Louise Merrick, one of the threegirls she had set out to discover, was the nearest on her route.Presently she rang the bell at the Merrick residence, an eminentlyrespectable dwelling; in a desirable neighborhood.
Diana could not resist a sigh of relief as her observant glance notedthis detail. A dignified butler ushered her into a reception room anddeparted with her card.
It was now that the visitor's nose took an upward tendency as shecritically examined her surroundings. The furnishings were abominable, amixture of distressingly new articles with those evidently procuredfrom dealers in "antiquities." Money had been lavished here, but goodtaste was absent. To understand this--for Miss Von Taer gauged thecondition truly--it is necessary to know something of Mrs. MarthaMerrick.
This lady, the relict of John Merrick's only brother, was endowed with amediocre mind and a towering ambition. When left a widow with an onlydaughter she had schemed and contrived in endless ways to maintain anappearance of competency on a meager income. Finally she divided hercapital, derived from her husband's life insurance, into three equalparts, which she determined to squander in three years in an attempt tohoodwink the world with the belief that she was wealthy. Before thethree years were ended her daughter Louise would be twenty, and by thattime she must have secured a rich _parti_ and been safely married. Inreturn for this "sacrifice" the girl was to see that her mother was madecomfortable thereafter.
This worldly and foolish design was confided to Louise when she was onlyseventeen, and her unformed mind easily absorbed her mother's sillyambition. It was a pity, for Louise Merrick possessed a nature sweetand lovable, as well as instinctively refined--a nature derived from herdead father and with little true sympathy with Mrs. Merrick'sunscrupulous schemes. But at that age a girl is easily influenced, so itis little wonder that under such tuition Louise became calculating, slyand deceitful, to a most deplorable degree.
Such acquired traits bade fair in the end to defeat Mrs. Merrick'scarefully planned _coup_, for the daughter had a premature love affairwith a youth outside the pale of eligibility. Louise ignored the factthat he had been disinherited by his father, and in her recklessinfatuation would have sacrificed her mother without thought or remorse.The dreadful finale had only been averted by the advent of Uncle JohnMerrick, who had changed the life plans of the widow and her heedlessdaughter and promptly saved the situation.
John Merrick did not like his sister-in-law, but he was charmed by hislovely niece and took her at once to his affectionate old heart. He sawthe faults of Louise clearly, but also appreciated her sweeterqualities. Under his skillful guidance she soon redeemed herself andregained control of her better nature. The girl was not yet perfect, byany means; she was to an extent artificial and secretive, and herthoughtless flirtations were far from wise; but her two cousins and heruncle had come to know and understand her good points. They not onlybore patiently with her volatile nature but strove to influence her todemonstrate her inherent good qualities.
In one way her mother's calculating training had been most effective.Louise was not only a dainty, lovely maid to the eye, but her mannerswere gracious and winning and she had that admirable self-possessionwhich quickly endears one even to casual acquaintances. She did notimpress more intimate friends as being wholly sincere, yet there wasnothing in her acts, since that one escapade referred to, that meritedsevere disapproval.
Of course the brilliant idea of foisting her precious daughter upon the"select" society of the metropolis was original with Mrs. Merrick.Louise was well content with things as they were; but not so themother. The rise from poverty to affluence, the removal of all cares andburdens from her mind, had merely fostered still greater ambitions.Uncle John's generosity had endowed each of his three nieces with anample fortune. "I want 'em to enjoy the good things of life whilethey're at an age to enjoy 'em," he said; "for the older one gets thefewer things are found to be enjoyable. That's my experience, anyhow."He also told the girls frankly that they were to inheritjointly--although not equally--his entire fortune. Yet even this glowingprospect did not satisfy Mrs. Merrick. Since all her plans for Louise,from the very beginning, had been founded on personal selfishness, shenow proposed to have her daughter gain admission to recognizedfashionable society in order that she might herself bask in thereflection of the glory so obtained and take her place with the proudmatrons who formed the keystone of such society. After carefullyconsidering ways and means to gain her object she had finally conceivedthe idea of utilizing Mr. Merrick. She well knew Uncle John would notconsider one niece to the exclusion of the others, and had thereforeused his influence to get all three girls properly "introduced."Therefore her delight and excitement were intense when the butlerbrought up Diana's card and she realized that "the perfectly swell MissVon Taer" was seated in her reception room. She rushed to Louise, who,wholly innocent of any knowledge of the intrigue which had led to thisclimax, opened her blue eyes in astonishment and said with a gasp:
"Oh, mother! what shall I do?"
"Do? Why, go down and make yourself agreeable, of course. It's yourchance, my dear, your great chance in life! Go--go! Don't, for heaven'ssake, keep her waiting."
Louise went down. In her most affable and gracious way she approachedthe visitor and said:
"It is very nice of you to call upon me. I am _so_ glad to meet Miss VonTaer." Diana, passing conversational nothings with the young girl, waspleased by her appearance and self-possession. This aspirant for socialhonors was fresh, fair and attractive, with a flow of small talk at hertongue's end.
"Really," thought the fastidious visitor, "this one, at least, will dome no discredit. If she is a fair sample of the others we shall getalong very nicely In this enterprise."
To Louise she said, before going:
"I'm to have an evening, the nineteenth. Will you assist me to receive?Now that we are acquainted I wish to see more of you, my dear, and Ipredict we shall get along famously together."
The girl's head swam. Help Miss Von Taer to receive! Such an honor hadbeen undreamed of an hour ago. But she held her natural agitation undergood control and only a round red spot Upon each cheek betrayed herinward excitement as she prettily accepted the invitation. Beneath theirdrooping lashes Diana's sagacious eyes read the thoughts of the girlquite accurately. Miss Von Taer enjoyed disconcerting anyone in any way,and Louise was so simple and unsophisticated that she promised to affordconsiderable amusement in the future.
By the time Diana had finished her brief call this singular creature hadtaken the measure of Louise Merrick in every detail, including herassumption of lightness and her various frivolities. She understood thatin the girl were capabilities for good or for evil, as she might be ledby a stronger will. And, musingly, Diana wondered who would lead her.
As for Louise, she was enraptured by her distinguished visitor'scondescension and patronage, and her heart bounded at the thought ofbeing admitted to the envied social coterie in which Diana Von Taershone a bright, particular star.
The second name in the list of John Merrick's nieces was that ofElizabeth De Graf. She lived at a good private hotel located in anexclusive residence district.
It was true that Elizabeth--or "Beth," as she was more familiarlycalled--was not a permanent guest at this hotel. When in New York shewas accustomed to live with one or the other of her cousins, whowelcomed her eagerly. But just now her mother had journeyed from the oldOhio home to visit Beth, and the girl had no intention of inflictingher parent upon the other girls. Therefore she had taken rooms at thehotel temporarily, and the plan suited her mother excellently. For onething, Mrs. De Graf could go home and tell her Cloverton gossips thatshe ha
d stopped at the most "fashionable" hotel in New York; a secondpoint was that she loved to feast with epicurean avidity upon theproducts of a clever _chef_, being one of those women who live to eat,rather than eat to live.
Mrs. De Graf was John Merrick's only surviving sister, but she differedas widely from the simple, kindly man in disposition as did heringenious daughter from her in mental attainments. The father, ProfessorDe Graf, was supposed to be a "musical genius." Before Beth came intoher money, through Uncle John, the Professor taught the piano andsinging; now, however, the daughter allowed her parents a liberalincome, and the self-engrossed musician devoted himself to composingoratorios and concertas which no one but himself would ever play. Tobe quite frank, the girl cared little for her gross and selfish parents,and they in turn cared little for her beyond the value she afforded themin the way of dollars and cents. So she had not lived at home, whereconstant quarrels and bickerings nearly drove her frantic, since UncleJohn had adopted her. In catering to this present whim of her mother,who longed to spend a few luxurious weeks in New York, Beth sacrificedmore than might be imagined by one unacquainted with her sad familyhistory.
Whimsical Major Doyle often called Uncle John's nieces "the ThreeGraces"; but Beth was by odds the beauty of them all. Splendid browneyes, added to an exquisite complexion, almost faultless features and asuperb carriage, rendered this fair young girl distinguished in anythrong. Fortunately she was as yet quite unspoiled, being saved fromvanity by a morbid consciousness of her inborn failings and a sincereloathing for the moral weakness that prevented her from correcting thosefaults. Judging Beth by the common standard of girls of her age, bothfailings and faults were more imaginary than real; yet it was hercharacteristic to suspect and despise in herself such weaknesses asothers would condone, or at least regard leniently. For here was a girltrue and staunch, incapable of intrigue or deceit, frank and outspoken,all these qualities having been proven more than once. Everyone lovedBeth De Graf save herself, and at this stage of her development theinfluence of her cousins and of Uncle John had conspired to make thesupersensitive girl more tolerant of herself and less morbid thanformerly.
I think Beth knew of Diana Von Taer, for the latter's portraitfrequently graced the society columns of the New York press and at timesthe three nieces, in confidential mood, would canvass Diana and hersocial exploits as they did the acts of other famous semi-publicpersonages. But the girl had never dreamed of meeting such a celebrity,and Miss Von Taer's card filled her with curious wonder as to the errandthat had brought her.
The De Grafs lived _en suite_ at the hotel, for Beth had determined tosurround her Sybaritic mother with all attainable luxury, since thechild frequently reproached herself with feeling a distinct repulsionfor the poor woman. So to-day Diana was ushered into a pretty parlorwhere Beth stood calmly awaiting her.
The two regarded one another in silence a moment, Miss De Graf's frankeyes covering the other with a comprehensive sweep while Miss Von Taer'snarrowed gaze, profoundly observant, studied the beautiful girl beforeher with that impenetrable, half-hidden gleam that precluded anysolution.
"Miss Von Taer, I believe," said Beth, quietly glancing at the card sheheld. "Will you be seated?"
Diana sank gracefully into a chair. The sinuous motion attracted Beth'sattention and gave her a slight shiver.
"I am so glad to meet you, my dear," began the visitor, in soft, purringaccents. "I have long promised myself the pleasure of a call, and inspite of many procrastinations at last have accomplished my ambition."
Beth resented the affectation of this prelude, and slightly frowned.Diana was watching; she always watched. "Why should you wish to callupon me?" was the frank demand. "Do not think me rude, please; but I amscarcely in a position to become a desirable acquaintance of Miss VonTaer." The tone was a trifle bitter, and Diana noted it. A subtileantagonism seemed springing up between them and the more experiencedgirl scented in this danger to her plans. She must handle this younglady more cautiously than she had Louise Merrick.
"Your position is unimpeachable, my dear," was the sweet-toned response."You are John Merrick's niece."
Beth was really angry now. She scowled, and it spoiled her beauty. Dianatook warning and began to think quickly.
"I referred to my social position, Miss Von Taer. Our family is honestenough, thank God; but it has never been accepted in what is termedselect society."
Diana laughed; a quiet, rippling laugh as icy as a brook in November,but as near gaiety as she could at the moment accomplish. When shelaughed this way her eyes nearly closed and became inscrutable. Bethhad a feeling of repulsion for her caller, but strove to shake it off.Miss Von Taer was nothing to her; could be nothing to her.
"Your uncle is a very wealthy man," said Diana, with easy composure. "Hehas made you an heiress, placing you in a class much sought after inthese mercenary days. But aside from that, my dear, your personalaccomplishments have not escaped notice, and gossip declares you to be avery fascinating young woman, as well as beautiful and good. I do notimagine society claims to be of divine origin, but were it so no one ismore qualified to grace it."
The blandishments of this speech had less effect upon Beth than theevident desire to please. She began to feel she had been ungracious, andstraightway adopted a more cordial tone.
"I am sure you mean well, Miss Von Taer," she hastened to say, "and Iassure you I am not ungrateful. But it occurred to me we could havenothing in common." "Oh, my dear! You wrong us both."
"Do you know my uncle?" enquired Beth.
"He is the friend of my father, Mr. Hedrik Von Taer. Our family owes Mr.John Merrick much consideration. Therefore I decided to seek pleasure inthe acquaintance of his nieces."
The words and tone seemed alike candid. Beth began to relent. She satdown for the first time, taking a chair opposite Diana.
"You see," she said, artlessly, "I have no personal inclination forsociety, which is doubtless so large a part of your own amusement. Itseems to me artificial and insipid."
"Those who view from a distance the husk of a cocoanut, have little ideaof the milk within," declared Diana, softly.
"True," answered Beth. "But I've cracked cocoanuts, and sometimes foundthe milk sour and tainted."
"The difference you observe in cocoanuts is to be found in the variousgrades of society. These are not all insipid and artificial, I assureyou."
"They may be worse," remarked Beth. "I've heard strange tales of yourorgies." Diana was really amused. This girl was proving moreinteresting than the first niece she had interviewed. Unaccustomed toseeking acquaintances outside her own exclusive circle, and under suchcircumstances, these meetings were to her in the nature of an adventure.A creature of powerful likes and dislikes, she already hated Beth mostheartily; but for that very reason she insisted on cultivating herfurther acquaintance.
"You must not judge society by the mad pranks of a few of its members,"she responded, in her most agreeable manner. "If we are not to set anexample in decorum to the rest of the world we are surely unfitted tooccupy the high place accorded us. But you must see and decide foryourself."
"I? No, indeed!"
"Ah, do not decide hastily, my dear. Let me become your sponsor for ashort time, until you really discover what society is like. Then you mayact upon more mature judgment."
"I do not understand you, Miss Von Taer."
"Then I will be more explicit. I am to receive a few friends at my homeon the evening of the nineteenth; will you be my guest?" Beth waspuzzled how to answer. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps UncleJohn would like her to be courteous to his friend's daughter, and thatargument decided her. She accepted the invitation.
"I want you to receive with me," continued Diana, rising. "In that way Ishall be able to introduce you to my friends."
Beth wondered at this condescension, but consented to receive. She wasannoyed to think how completely she had surrendered to the will of MissVon Taer, for whom she had conceived the same aversion she had for as
nake. She estimated Diana, society belle though she was, to be sly,calculating and deceitful. Worse than all, she was decidedly clever, andtherefore dangerous. Nothing good could come of an acquaintance withher, Beth was sure; yet she had pledged herself to meet her and herfriends the nineteenth, lit a formal society function. How much Beth DeGraf misjudged Diana Von Taer the future will determine. The interviewhad tired Diana. As she reentered her carriage she was undecided whetherto go home or hunt up the third niece. But Willing Square was not fiveminutes' drive from here, so she ordered the coachman to proceed there.
"I am positively out of my element in this affair," she told herself,"for it is more difficult to cultivate these inexperienced girls than Ihad thought. They are not exactly impossible, as I at first feared, butthey are so wholly unconventional as to be somewhat embarrassing as_protegees_. Analyzing the two I have met--the majority--one strikes meas being transparently affected and the other a stubborn, attractivefool. They are equally untrained in diplomacy and unable to cover theirreal feelings. Here am I, practically dragging them into the limelight,when it would be far better for themselves--perhaps for me--that theyremained in oblivion. Ah, well: I called it an adventure: let me hopesome tangible plot will develop to compensate me for my trouble. Lifeseems deadly dull; I need excitement. Is it to be furnished by JohnMerrick's nieces, I wonder?" Willing Square is a new district, crowdedwith fashionable apartment houses. That is, they are called fashionableby their builders and owners and accepted as such by their would-befashionable occupants. Diana knew at least two good families resident inWilling Square, and though she smiled grimly at the rows of"oppressively new and vulgar" buildings, she still was not ashamed tohave her equipage seen waiting there.
Number 3708 Willing Square is a very substantial and cozy appearingapartment building owned in fee by Miss Patricia Doyle. Diana wasunaware of this fact, but rang the Doyle bell and ascended to the secondfloor.
A maid received her with the announcement that Miss Doyle had "juststepped out," but was somewhere in the building. Would the visitor careto wait a few minutes?
Yes; Diana decided she would wait. She took a seat in the snug frontparlor and from her position noted the series of rooms that opened oneinto another throughout the suite, all richly but tastefully furnishedin homely, unassuming manner. "This is better," she mused. "There isno attempt at foolish display in this establishment, at any rate. I hopeto find Miss Doyle a sensible, refined person. The name is Irish."
A door slammed somewhere down the line of rooms and a high-pitched voicecried in excited tones:
"I've found a baby! Hi, there, Nunkie, dear--I've found a baby!"
Thereupon came the sound of a chair being pushed back as a man's voiceanswered in equal glee:
"Why, Patsy, Patsy! it's the little rogue from upstairs. Here, Bobby;come to your own old Uncle!"
"He won't. He belongs to me; don't you, Bobby darlin'?"
A babyish voice babbled merrily, but the sounds were all "goos" and"ahs" without any resemblance to words. Bobby may have imagined he wastalking, but he was not very intelligible.
"See here, Patsy Doyle; you gimme that baby." cried the man, pleadingly. "I found him myself, and he's mine. I've dragged him here all the wayfrom his home upstairs, an' don't you dare lay a finger on him. UncleJohn!"
"Fair play, Patsy! Bobby's my chum, and--"
"Well, I'll let you have half of him, Nunkie. Down on your hands andknees, sir, and be a horse. That's it--Now, Bobby, straddle Uncle Johnand drive him by his necktie--here it is. S-t-e-a-d-y, Uncle; andneigh--neigh like a horse!"
"How does a horse neigh, Patsy?" asked a muffled voice, choking andchuckling at the same time.
"'Nee, hee-hee--hee; hee!'"
Uncle John tried to neigh, and made a sorry mess of it, although Bobbyshrieked with delight.
Then came a sudden hush. Diana caught the maid's voice, perhapsannouncing the presence of a visitor, for Patsy cried in subduedaccents:
"Goodness me, Mary! why didn't you say so? Listen, Uncle John--"
"Leggo that ear, Bobby--leggo!"
"--You watch the baby, Uncle John, and don't let anything happen tohim. I've got a caller."
Diana smiled, a bit scornfully, and then composed her features as ayoung girl bustled into the room and came toward her with frankcordiality indicated in the wide smile and out-stretched hand.
"Pardon my keeping you waiting," said Patsy, dropping into a chairopposite her visitor, "Uncle John and I were romping with the baby fromupstarts--Bobby's such a dear! I didn't quite catch the name Mary gaveme and forgot to look at your card."
"I am Miss Von Taer."
"Not Diana Von Taer, the swell society girl?" cried Patsy eagerly.
Diana couldn't remember when she had been so completely nonplusedbefore. After an involuntary gasp she answered quietly:
"I am Diana Von Taer."
"Well, I'm glad to meet you, just the same," said Patsy, cheerfully. "Weoutsiders are liable to look on society folk as we would on a cage ofmonkeys--because we're so very ignorant, you know, and the bars arereally between us." This frank disdain verged on rudeness, althoughthe girl had no intention of being rude. Diana was annoyed in spite ofher desire to be tolerant.
"Perhaps the bars are imaginary," she rejoined, carelessly, "and it maybe you've been looking at the side-show and not at the entertainment inthe main tent. Will you admit that possibility, Miss Doyle?"
Patsy laughed gleefully.
"I think you have me there, Miss Von Taer. And what do _I_ know aboutsociety? Just nothing at all. It's out of my line entirely."
"Perhaps it is," was the slow response. "Society appeals to only thosewhose tastes seem to require it."
"And aren't we drawing distinctions?" enquired Miss Doyle. "Society atlarge is the main evidence of civilization, and all decent folk aremembers of it."
"Isn't that communism?" asked Diana.
"Perhaps so. It's society at large. But certain classes have leaguedtogether and excluded themselves from their fellows, admitting onlythose of their own ilk. The people didn't put them on theirpedestals--they put themselves there. Yet the people bow down andworship these social gods and seem glad to have them. The newspapersprint their pictures and the color of their gowns and how they do theirhair and what they eat and what they do, and the poor washwomen andshop-girls and their like read these accounts more religiously than theydo their bibles. My maid Mary's a good girl, but she grabs the societysheet of the Sunday paper and reads it from top to bottom. I never lookat it myself."
Diana's cheeks were burning. She naturally resented such ridicule,having been born to regard social distinction with awe and reverence.Inwardly resolving to make Miss Patricia Doyle regret the speech she hidall annoyance under her admirable self-control and answered with smoothcomplacency:
"Your estimate of society, my dear Miss Doyle, is superficial."
"Don't I know it, then?" exclaimed Patsy. "Culture and breeding,similarity of taste and intellectual pursuits will always attractcertain people and band them together in those cliques which are called'social sets,' They are not secret societies; they have no rules ofexclusion; congenial minds are ever welcome to their ranks. This is anatural coalition, in no way artificial. Can you not appreciate that,Miss Doyle?"
"Yes, indeed," admitted Patsy, promptly. "You're quite right, and I'mjust one of those stupid creatures who criticise the sun because there'sa cloud before it. Probably there are all grades of society, becausethere are all grades of people."
"I thought you would agree with me when you understood," murmured Diana,and her expression was so smug and satisfied that Patsy was seized withan irresistible spirit of mischief.
"And haven't I seen your own pictures in the Sunday papers?" she asked.
"Perhaps; if you robbed your maid of her pleasure."
"And very pretty pictures they were, too. They showed culture andbreeding all right, and the latest style in gowns. Of course thoseintellectual high-brows in your set didn't ne
ed an introduction to you;you were advertised as an example of ultra-fashionable perfection, tospur the ambition of those lower down in the social scale. Perhaps it'sa good thing."
"Are you trying to annoy me?" demanded Diana, her eyes glaring undertheir curling lashes.
"Dear me--dear me!" cried Patsy, distressed, "see how saucy and impudentI've been--and I didn't mean a bit of it! Won't you forgive me, please,Miss Von Taer? There! we'll begin all over again, and I'll be on my goodbehavior. I'm so very ignorant, you know!"
Diana smiled at this; it would be folly to show resentment to such achildish creature.
"Unfortunately," she said, "I have been unable to escape the vulgarpublicity thrust upon me by the newspapers. The reporters are preyingvultures, rapacious for sensation, and have small respect for anyone. Iam sure we discourage them as much as we can. I used to weep withmortification when I found myself 'written up'; now, however, I havelearned to bear such trials with fortitude--if not with resignation.""Forgive me!" said Patsy, contritely. "Somehow I've had a false idea ofthese things. If I knew you better, Miss Von Taer, you'd soon convert meto be an admirer of society."
"I'd like to do that, Miss Doyle, for you interest me. Will you returnmy call?"
"Indeed I will," promised the girl, readily. "I'm flattered that youcalled on me at all, Miss Von Taer, for you might easily have amusedyourself better. You must be very busy, with all the demands societymakes on one. When shall I come? Make it some off time, when we won't bedisturbed."
Diana smiled at her eagerness. How nescient the poor little thing was!
"Your cousins, Miss Merrick and Miss De Graf, have consented to receivewith me on the evening of the nineteenth. Will you not join us?"
"Louise and Beth!" cried Patsy, astounded.
"Isn't it nice of them? And may I count upon you, also?"
Patsy smiled dubiously into the other's face.
"Let me out of it!" she said. "Can't you see I'm no butterfly?"
Diana saw many things, having taken a shrewd account of the girl longbefore this. Miss Patricia Doyle was short and plump, with a round,merry face covered with freckles, hair indisputably red and a_retrousse_ nose. Also she possessed a pair of wonderful blue eyes--eyesthat danced and scintillated with joyous good humor--eyes so captivatingthat few ever looked beyond them or noted the plain face theyglorified. But the critic admitted that the face was charminglyexpressive, the sweet and sensitive mouth always in sympathy with thetwinkling, candid eyes. Life and energy radiated from her small person,which Miss Von Taer grudgingly conceded to possess unusual fascination.Here was a creature quite imperfect in detail, yet destined to allureand enchant whomsoever she might meet. All this was quite the reverse ofDiana's own frigid personality. Patsy would make an excellent foil forher.
"As you please, my dear," she said graciously; "but do you not think itwould amuse you to make your debut in society--unimpeachablesociety--and be properly introduced to the occupants of the 'pedestals,'as your cousins will be?"
Patsy reflected. If Beth and Louise had determined to undertake thisventure why should she hold back? Moreover, she experienced a girlishand wholly natural curiosity to witness a fashionable gathering and"size up" the lions for herself. So she said:
"I'll come, if you really want me; and I'll try my best to behavenicely. But I can't imagine why you have chosen to take us three girlsunder your wing; unless--" with sudden intuition, "it's for Uncle John'ssake."
"That was it, at first," replied Diana, rising to go; "but now that I'veseen you I'm delighted to have you on your own account. Come early,dear; we must be ready to receive our guests by nine."
"Nine o'clock!" reflected Patsy, when her visitor had gone; "why, I'moften in bed by that time."