'" "What is that?" she asked. The Master of the Mint IV. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America.
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