Cayley watched for Clytie’s answer. It came with a jet of fervor. "Why," she exclaimed, "don’t you see it’s real? It’s _real_! It isn’t the way we care to do things, but they’re all alive and human—every one of them!" "Bah! It’s all a pose. They’re pretending they’re devilish." "I don’t care!" Clytie’s eyes fired. "Even so, there’s a live person in each of them—they’re just as real as we are. I never understood it before. Look under the surface of it—there’s blood there!" "It’s San Francisco!" said Cayley, "that explains everything. Oh, this town!" He sat down shaking his head. The old _patron_ bustled excitedly through the room. "Take-a de foot off de table! Take-a de foot off de table!" he protested. "You spoil the table clot’—you break-a de dishes! I don’t like dat! Get down, you! Get down!" *CHAPTER VI* *SIDE LIGHTS* "Mrs. Chenoweth Maxwell would be very glad to see Mr. Francis Granthope next Friday evening at nine o’clock for an informal Chinese costume supper. Kindly arrive masked." This invitation marked a climacteric in Granthope’s social career. It was supplemented by an explanation over the telephone that left no doubt in the mind of the palmist as to the genuineness and friendliness of its cordiality. He had appeared already at several assemblies of the smarter set and had, by this time, a considerable acquaintance with the fashionable side of town. Of the information thus acquired he had made good use in his business. He had always gone, however, in his professional capacity as a paid entertainer; and no matter how considerately he had been treated, the fact that he was not present as a guest had always been obvious. He was in a class with the operatic star who consents to sing in private and maintains her delicate position of unstable social equilibrium with sensitive self-consciousness. In his rise from obscurity, at first, he had been pleased with such invitations, seeing that they brought him money and an increasing fame. He was now sought after as a picturesque and personable character. Women evinced a fearful delight in his presence; they treated him sometimes as if he were a handsome highwayman, tamed to drawing-room amenities, sometimes as they treated those mysterious Hindus in robes and turbans who occasionally appeared to prate of esoteric faiths in the salons of the Illuminati.