soon as anyone came in, Mrs. Ess Kay would say, "How do you do, my
Lord of Leicester, or my noble George Washington," or whatever the
person might be trying to be. "So glad to see you. You must go and have
a look at the Maze. Do you know how to find it? Just through that
curtain. You can't miss the way."

Then the gorgeous masker would cross the hall, and disappear behind a
great curtain of tapestry that covered an open doorway leading to the
garden. But he hadn't to go out of doors. A canvas covered, winding
passage took him to the vast marquee, which was, of course, the Maze.
But why it was the Maze, and what happened to you in the Maze after you
had got in, I didn't know any more than the outsiders. That was the fun
of it for me, of course; and it really was fun.

Sally had only taken enough pains about her dress to save annoying Mrs.
Ess Kay. She was a White Carmelite, with a veil over her face instead
of a mask. But Potter had made a tremendous fuss about himself. He was
Flame, which he said was appropriate in the circumstances, as he had
got so used to playing Fire to my Frost, he felt quite at home in the
character. And he was very magnificent. He had designed the costume
himself, for he fancies himself at that sort of thing; and my white
sparkling robes, and his scarlet satin and carbuncle embroidery, and
copper and gold fringes did look rather effective side by side.

He made that an excuse for insisting that I should go with him into the
Maze, although a tall Hamlet and a Henry V. of England both wanted to
take me.

Potter whisked me away from them somehow, and we passed under the
tapestry curtains while one of the two Hungarian bands Mrs. Ess Kay had
hired played a waltz which made me long to dance.

"This way to the Maze; this way to the Maze," a man dressed like a
Beefeater was continually saying. He stood just outside the door, in a
kind of canvas vestibule, lined with greenery, so that it looked like
the entrance to a bower.

The passage to the marquee had been made so beautiful, that I couldn't
help crying out to Potter with admiration. Not an inch of the canvas
showed, for we walked through a sort of tunnel of roses, all lit up
with invisible electric lights. It was like the way to fairyland; and
the floor was covered with a mat of artificial grass, like they have
for stage lawns, Potter said.

I thought, when we came to the end of the rose-tunnel, we should find
ourselves in a big open space i