ver calls me that."

"I shall call you that. Patricia! Perfect! You couldn't have been
better dubbed. No, not possibly better dubbed. Patricia, ah,
Patricia!"

Patty edged away a little. She began to think her hostess was crazy.
But Alla went on:

"And my brother, Patricia, do you not adore him?"

"Well, you see, I've only seen him a few times. I can't quite agree
that I adore him, yet."

"But you will. As soon as you have heard his poems, you will put him
on a pedestal, yes, on a high pedestal. And tonight you will hear him
read his wonderful lines. What a treat you have in store!"

And then new arrivals claimed Miss Blaney's attention, and Patty turned
aside. She found Philip waiting for her, his eyes dancing with
amusement.

"What is it all?" he whispered; "a bear garden?"

"Hush, Phil, don't make me laugh. Did you ever see anything like it?"

"Well, I've been to Studio jinks, but they were to this as moonlight
unto sunlight and as water unto wine! Shall I take you home?"

"No, indeed! I want to see the fun. I've never been to a Studio
jinks,--or whatever you call it, and I want to live and learn."

"All right, Patty. You shall stay as long as you like, but I'll wager
that inside of an hour you'll be begging me to get you out of it."

"All right, if I do, I shall expect you to take me away. Let's look at
the room."

They sauntered about, and finally sat down on a Turkish divan, which
proved much lower than they had anticipated.

"What an uncomfortable thing!" said Patty, "but sit here a minute,
while I look round."

From the ceiling hung Moorish-looking lamps, which gave almost no
light, and, were of rather dilapidated appearance. The furniture, too,
was not only antique, but wabbly-legged and here and there tied up with
strings or leather thongs. Statuettes were about, broken and dusty;
jugs and bowls of dull brass and copper; rickety screens; enormous
unframed photographs, warped and faded, but bearing splashing and
unintelligible autographs; and draperies of all sorts, from old shawls
to tattered ecclesiastical robes.

"I see what Mr. Blaney meant by the key of saffron," said Patty,
sagely. "Everything is that colour because of the accumulation of dust
and dirt! I don't believe this place has ever had a good
house-cleaning!"

"Oh, Patty, my dear child! Don't thus expose your ignorance! Bohemia
never cleans house! The very thought is sacrilege!"

"Why is it? Some of