From these and similar stories to the larger issues of Democracy was but a step, and as Dorothy rose and opened the flask of Chianti, the step was taken. The Fabian Nursery and the S.D.F. came all in the stride.... The space within the fender became half full of banana-skins and orange peel; the fire-light shone up on the eager faces; and Amory, in the half-shadow by the coal-box, fed her eyes on effects. What ripping drawing there was in Dickie Lemesurier's neck as it issued from its square-cut, peacock's-feather-embroidered frame! What a perfectly glorious colour Walter's snuff-coloured corduroys took in the glow (only glaze on glaze of burnt-sienna could ever get it!) And how stunning was the shadow of Cosimo's hand over his handsome chin as he put the cigarette into his mouth!... Cosimo's hair clung like tendrils about his temples and over the back of his soft grey collar; Amory had made at one time and another a dozen drawings of his splendid throat; she hoped to make a dozen more. She was very proud of having Cosimo for a friend. He set down appearances at their proper value, no more. He was quite free from those stupid old-fashioned prejudices that, in so arrogantly setting apart certain subjects as undiscussable between young men and young women, had so delayed the real freedom that, for all that, was coming. She laughed as Cosimo, who had just put a lump of coal on the fire with his fingers, asked Dorothy whether he might wipe them on her stockings, and made some remark about Spring Novelties when Dorothy said that he might not. It was only Cosimo. Everybody understood. There was just that touch of gentle womanliness in Cosimo (Amory thought) that perfects and finishes a man. In watching Cosimo and the others, but especially Cosimo, Amory had a little disregarded the conversation. She was recalled to it by a sudden exclamation from Katie Deedes-- "Oh no--carnations for Dickie, and just green leaves for Amory----" "Late ones, slightly turning," Laura Beamish suggested, peering critically over her hand again as she strove to compass a mental image of Amory wearing the leaves. "Or green grapes," Walter Wyron suggested, peering also. "Amory, do take down your hair!" they suddenly implored. Amory grumbled sweetly. It was such a bother to put it up again, she said. But Cosimo, starting from his seat against Dorothy's knees, cried, "Oh yes, Amory!" and took a fresh place by her feet. "With the firelight through it it should be just unbelievable!" he cried excitedly.... So Amory's hands went to the great red-gold fir cone; she shook down the heavy plaits; and Cosimo's fingers parted and disposed them. "How's that? Wait--just a minute--it wants just one touch--there!" he said, drawing back. Cries of admiration broke out. Amory was as hidden by it as a weeping elm is hidden by its leaves.