The conservatory was a feature of the Bramfell townhouse, and to Loder it came as something wonderful and unlooked-for--with its clustering green branches, its slight, unoppressive scents, its temperately pleasant atmosphere. He felt no wish to speak as, still guided by Blessington, he passed down the shadowy paths that in the half-light had the warmth and mystery of a Southern garden. Here and there from the darkness came the whispering of a voice or the sound of a laugh, bringing with them the necessary touch of life. Otherwise the place was still. Absorbed by the air of solitude, contrasting so remarkably with the noise and crowded glitter left behind in the reception-rooms, he had moved half-way down the long, green aisle before the business in hand came back to him with a sudden sense of annoyance. It seemed so paltry to mar the quiet of the place with the absurdity of a side-show. He turned to Blessington with a touch of abruptness. “What am I expected to do?” he asked. Blessington looked up, surprised. “Why, I thought, sir--” he began. Then he instantly altered his tone: “Oh, just enter into the spirit of the thing. Lady Astrupp won't put much strain on your credulity, but she'll make a big call on your solemnity.” He laughed. He had an infectious laugh, and Loder responded to it. “But what am I to do?” he persisted. “Oh, nothing. Being the priestess, she, naturally demands acolytes; but she'll let you know that she holds the prior place. The tent is so fixed that she sees nothing beyond your hands; so there's absolutely no delusion.” He laughed once more. Then suddenly he lowered his voice and slackened his steps. “Here we are!” he whispered, in pretended awe. At the end of the path the space widened to the full breadth of the conservatory. The light was dimmer, giving an added impression of distance; away to the left, Loder heard the sound of splashing water, and on his right hand he caught his first glimpse of the tent that was his goal. It was an artistic little structure--a pavilion formed of silky fabric that showed bronze in the light of an Oriental lamp that hung above its entrance. As they drew closer, a man emerged from it. He stood for a moment in uncertainty, looking about him; then, catching sight of them, he came forward laughing. “By George!” he exclaimed, “it's as dark as limbo in there! I didn't see you at first. But I say, Blessington, it's a beastly shame to have that thunder-cloud barrier shutting off the sorceress. If she gazes at the crystal, mayn't we have something to gaze at, too?” Blessington laughed. “You want too much, Galltry,” he said. “Lady Astrupp understands the value of the unattainable. Come along, sir!” he added to Loder, drawing him forward with an energetic pressure of the arm.