I had never been on the Surrey side of the Thames in my life, and had no intention of going there now. So possibly very extravagantly, I determined to set myself up in the West End. My little costumiere, Eloise's friend, who had so kindly given me credit, lived close by in Jermyn Street, and it occurred to me that I might get a room over her shop.

Madame Karl lived in an old fashioned house in Jermyn Street. On the ground floor was her shop, a tiny magasin de robes, and the rest of the house was used for her own living rooms, and one or two sets of apartments, generally let out to bachelors. I found her in the shop, bowing out a plump lady of important mien.

She was genuinely glad to see me, and laughingly enquired how I had managed to get my bill settled so soon. I made belief a few kisses had been all the price paid by me for the check, but I could see she thought I lied. With a laugh she pinched my cheek. “Well, I wish all my customers were pretty girls,” she said. “Then I should get my accounts settled more regularly.” The lady that just went out owes me over 1000 pounds and on the top of that she's just left an order to execute which I shall have to set aside all other work, and spend goodness knows how much on material. Yet I dare not offend her, for she is the Countess of Alminister, and brings many American ladies here-who do pay. But it is a heavy commission,” and the little woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

Madame Karl was not exactly a beauty, but she had a figure that sets off to its best advantage by her perfect gowns, set many a man coveting the charms within. And the charms were worth “having, as I discovered the first night I slept in the Jermyn Street House. She must have been thirty-eight or nine, but her flesh was firm and white and unwrinkled. I helped to rub her down with a soft towel before bed, and when I noticed how she wriggled under my fingers, I knew there was still a volcano of love in that pretty little body.