"I returned your overcoat this morning--before breakfast; and I didn't even receive a note of thanks for it.

I might properly have kept it till my opera cloak came back." "It's never coming back," he answered; "and as for my overcoat, I didn't know it had been returned.

I was out all the morning." "In the Row ?" she asked, with an undertone of meaning.
"Well, not exactly.

I was out looking for your cloak." "Without breakfast ?" she urged with a whimsical glance.
"Well, I got breakfast while I was looking." "And while you were indulging material tastes, the cloak hid itself--or went out and hanged itself ?" He settled himself comfortably in the huge chair which seemed made especially for him.

With a rare sense for details she had had this very chair brought from the library beyond, where her stepmother, in full view, was writing letters.