“Ecquisist,” howled the crowd of lovely folk, “What form divine!” “What is she at?” growled Mr. Withersq for to tell the truth he felt a bit queer, this being in the nature of a surprise, and hoping that this was not a thing to copy, not feeling too sure of the last time he washed his feet. “Hussssh!” hissed a shriveled dowager beside him, “it is her art.” Now the fat lady at last ceased dancing and sank down, and a beaky-nosed sort of gentleman cried out: “Our newly-come friend Withersq does not seem to understand.” “Dont be a soft!” cried Selia, for she had guest he had put his foot in it by his remark, remembering what her ma had taught her that no true ladys and gentlemen ever took notice or seemed amazed but took things as in a dream without saying much. Now while all this turmoil went on, the ladys cried several times “How two to!” and “Arent they two sweet?” and “Oh, _no_!” like a perfect choir, which Selia and Mr. Withersq hardly knew how to take. The sharpnosed gent before long rose to his feet with a bored sniff. “Art, my dear friend, is but a long sigh for the beautiful and great,” he drorled, and bursting into tears he left the room and was seen no more, and the ladys said he was charming too. Selia now ventured to wisper to the young person beside her on the floor: “Why did he cry? What has he done wrong?” “Oh, dont ask me, I am only a meer countess and no nothing of artists and their ways,” this beauty replied with an haughty smirk. “I see,” politely said Selia, although she did not really, but feeling very improved to be on speaking terms with a countess so soon. And now came another nice little event. The man Tzpcham having quaft several bouts of the costly wines sudenly stept forward tossing back his hairs and then like a conjurer he pulled from his coat a thing like a football stuck on one side of a plate, only all made in one out of stone, and it was really a statue. It was a surprise for Selia and Mr. Withersq, as they had only seen statues before that were like people. “It is my latest,” cried Tzpcham, and the brite ladys and the men bent and cooed round it making noises of pleasure. “All art is the round getting the best of the plain,” said he then in a gloomy way shaking his head. “How too true!” cried Selia gushingly, for she was a quick girl and had picked up this smart saying by now, and drew murmurs of admiration from all beholders. By this time of night, all the assembly had drunk many drinks and so very soon they lay down in ordely heaps and pairs on the floor or the sofars to sleep it off, and when Selia and Mr. Withersquash had said their prayers they lay down too, Selia with her head softly rested on her bag, and dropped quickly off to sleep very well pleased with the way they had got on, and that was the end of the party. CHAPTER THREE In the morning it was Selia that woke Mr. Withersq. “Come on Harold,” she said rising from her makeshift couch, “we know some art now, lets make a move.”