that, I am sure, will not be necessary: a great
tragedian was lost when he became a great painter."

"Might I ask how and when and where I am to meet this wonderful man?"

"At the garden-party."

"In what way am I to get there?"

"By strategy. There is a little reunion to-night of what may be called
female Bohemians. They are going to settle the preliminaries of this
party, and if you happen to be present they will invite you; not that
they particularly care for your company, but because, as I said, you
happen to be there. Only don't get yourself into a mess by tramping on
any one's toes."

"Have they corns?"

"Yes, on every inch of surface: they are dreadfully thin-skinned. But
they hate sham even more than a hard knock, and are quicker than
a police-officer in detecting it; so be careful not to talk about
anything you are ignorant of."

"Give me a few rules, and I promise to conduct myself properly."

"Well, don't be snobbish and patronize them, and don't look shocked
at any strange opinions you hear, nor act as if you were at an animal
show and were wondering what would happen next. Be sure not to assent
when you see they wish to argue, and don't argue when they expect
acquiescence. If any of them speak in broken English, and you can't
for the life of you understand, don't ask them to repeat, but answer
immediately, for you can imagine when one has taken pains to learn a
foreign language one likes it to be appreciated, and don't--But here
we are. In short, make yourself at home, as if you had been there all
your life."

"Afra," I said, laying my hand on her arm as she took to her swift
pace again, "perhaps I had better go home: I am afraid I can't--I
think--that is--"

"Nonsense! as if you could not get on after all those hints! Anyway,
you cannot return alone, and I am unable to go with you. Make up your
mind to blunder, and do it. There was an amateur visited the studio
about three months ago: her absurdities have lasted us for laughing
material ever since. As she is getting rather stale, you can take her
place. This is the house: come in."

With this doubtful prospect in view I followed my peremptory guide
from the narrow street into what appeared to be a spacious court, but
as the only light it received was from a blinking candle in the window
of the conciergerie, I could not determine. After exchanging some
cabalistic sentences with a toothless old woman, the proprietor of the
candle, Afra turned