"That's a different matter. You know those were for your eyes alone." "I know. I will keep them for myself." The Studio of the Blaneys in the city was much like the one Patty had seen at Lakewood, only a little more elaborately bizarre. The Moorish lamps were bigger and dustier: the thick brocade draperies a little more faded and tattered; the furniture a little more gilded and wobbly. Alla came gliding to greet Patty, and gave her an enthusiastic welcome. "You darling!" she cried, "you _very_ darling! Look at her, everybody! Look! Gloat over this bit of perfect perfection! Did you ever _see_ anything so wonderful?" Alla had led Patty to the middle of the room, and she now turned her round and round, like a dressmaker exhibiting a model. Patty felt no embarrassment, for the people all about accepted the exhibition as a matter of course, and gazed at her in smiling approbation. Moreover, all the guests were dressed as unconventionally as Patty, and even more so. There were more queer costumes than she had seen at the Lakewood party, more weird effects of hairdressing and more eccentric posing and posturing. The New York branch of these Bohemians were evidently farther advanced in their cult than the others she had seen. A little bewildered, Patty allowed herself to be ensconced on a crimson and gold Davenport, and listened to a rattle of conversation that was partly intelligible, and partly, it seemed to her, absolute nonsense. "I am exploiting this gem," Alla announced, indicating Patty herself as the "gem." "She hasn't quite found herself yet,--but she will soon command the range of the whole emotional spectrum! She is a wonder! Her soul is stuffed to bursting with dynamic force! We must train her, educate her, show her, gently guide her dancing feet in the paths of beauty,--in the star-strewn paths of cosmic beauty." "We will!" shouted a dozen voices. "What can she do?" "Dance," replied Alla. "But such dancing! She is a will-o'-the-wisp, a pixie, a thistledown, a butterfly!" "All those and more," said Sam Blaney. "She is a velvet angel, a rose-coloured leaf in the wind, a fluttering scarf end." "What imagery!" murmured somebody, and some one else said, "Inspiration!" in an awed tone. "And now to work," urged Alla. "We must plan for our holiday party. Shall we have it here?" "Here, of course," she was answered. "But others of you have larger homes, more pretentious dwellings----" "But not the atmosphere. This Studio,--" it was a large-eyed young musician talking, "this hallowed room has more elevating tendency,--more inspiring atmosphere than any other. Let us meet here by all means, and let us have such a program--such a feast of glories as never before." Then another man spoke. He was a tall young chap, with a good-natured smile, and Patty liked his face.