directed
his steps.

"But I don't know these people, and I'm not properly dressed," objected
Bob.

"They know me. And as for dress, if you'd arrange to wear a chaste
feather duster only, you'd make a hit."

A roomful of people were buzzing like a hive. Most were in conventional
evening dress. Here and there, however, Bob caught hints of masculine
long hair, of feminine psyche knots, bandeaux and other extremely
artistic but unusual departures. One man with his dinner jacket wore a
soft linen shirt perforated by a Mexican drawn-work pattern beneath
which glowed a bright red silk undergarment. Women's gowns on the
flowing and Grecian order were not uncommon. These were usually coupled
with the incongruity of parted hair brought low and madonna-wise over
the ears. As the two entered, a very powerful blond man was just
finishing the declamation of a French poem. He was addressing it
directly at two women seated on a sofa.

"_Un r-r-reve d'amour!_"

He concluded with much passion and clasped hands.

In the rustle ensuing after this effort, Baker led his friend down the
room to a very fat woman upholstered in pink satin, to whom he
introduced Bob. Mrs. Annis, for such proved to be her name, welcomed him
effusively.

"I've heard so much about you!" she cried vivaciously, to Bob's vast
astonishment. She tapped him on the arm with her fan. "I'm going to make
a confession to you; I know it may be foolish, but I do like music so
much better than I do pictures."

Bob, his brain whirling, muttered something.

"But I'm going to confess to you again, I like artists so much better
than I do musicians."

A light dawned on Bob. "But I'm not an artist nor a musician," he
blurted out.

The pink-upholstered lady, starting back with an agility remarkable in
one of her size, clasped her hands.

"Don't _tell_ me you write!" she cried dramatically.

"All right, I won't," protested poor Bob, "for I don't."

A slow expression of bewilderment overspread Mrs. Annis's face, and she
glanced toward Baker with an arched brow of interrogation.

"I merely wanted Mr. Orde to meet you, Mrs. Annis," he said
impressively, "and to feel that another time, when he is less exhausted
by the strain of a long day, he may have the privilege of explaining to
you the details of the great Psychic Movement he is inaugurating."

Mrs. Annis smiled on him graciously. "I am home every Sunday to my
_intimes_," she murmured. "I should be so pleased."