ose whom she had left never ceased. The maid brought in a
tray covered with dainty dishes of white and silver and a little
flask of white wine. Then, after Maria had refused further
assistance, she left her. Maria ate her supper. She was in reality
half famished. Then she went to bed. Nestling in her white bed,
looking out of a lace-curtained window opposite through which came
the glimpse of a long line of city lights, Maria felt more than ever
as if she were in another world. She felt as if she were gazing at
her past, at even her loves of life, through the wrong end of a
telescope.

The night was very warm but the room was deliciously cool. A breath
of sweet coolness came from one of the walls. Maria, contrary to her
wont, fell asleep almost immediately. She was exhausted, and an
unusual peace seemed to soothe her very soul. She felt as if she had
really died and gotten safe to Heaven. She said her prayers, then she
was asleep. She awoke rather late the next morning, and took her
bath, and then her breakfast was brought. When that was finished and
she was dressed, it was ten o'clock, and the maid Adelaide came to
take her to her hostess. Maria went down one elevator and up another,
the one in which she had seen Miss Blair ascend the night before.
Then she entered a strange room, in the midst of which sat Miss
Blair. To Maria's utter amazement, she no longer seemed in the least
deformed, she no longer seemed a dwarf. She was in perfect harmony
with the room, which was low-ceiled, full of strange curves and low
furniture with curved backs. It was all Eastern, as was the first
floor of the house. Maria understood with a sort of intuition that
this was necessary. The walls were covered with Eastern hangings,
tables of lacquer stood about filled with squat bronzes and gemlike
ivory carvings. The hangings were all embroidered in short curve
effects. Maria realized that her hostess, in this room, made more of
a harmony than she herself. She felt herself large, coarse, and
common where she should have been tiny, bizarre, and, according to
the usual standard, misformed. Miss Blair had planned for herself a
room wherein everything was misformed, and in which she herself was
in keeping. It had been partly the case on the first floor of the
house. Here it was wholly. Maria sat down in one of the squat,
curved-back chairs, and Miss Blair, who was opposite, looked at her,
then laughed with the open delight of a child.

"What a p