A door at the end of the room opened abruptly and a small woman came forward almost panting. "I just ran up those stairs," she cried. "But I was bound to be the first. I used to go to school with your mother down on Bush Street--dear Minnie Morrison!" She was a woman of fifty or sixty, with a nose like an inflamed button, eyes that watered freely, and a shabby black hat somewhat on one side. "But my mother never went to school in San Francisco," said Gora stiffly, and eyeing this first precipitate member of the intellectual world with profound disfavor. "Oh, yes, she did. We were the most intimate friends. To think that dear Minnie's daughter--" "Her name was not Minnie Morrison--" "Oh, yes, it was--" "Don't mind her so much, Gora dear." Aileen did not trouble to lower her voice. "She's drunk. Let's go down." Another woman entered the same door almost as hastily, but she was a stately and rather handsome woman of forty, who gave the intruder such a withering look from her serene blue eyes that the unrefined member of the Seven Arts slunk out and could be heard stumbling down the stairs. "I followed as soon as some one told me that Miss Skeers had come up here," she said apologetically. "She is not always herself, poor thing. Once she was quite distinguished as a local magazine writer, but ... well, you know ... all people do not have the good fortune to have their genius universally recognized, and the results are sometimes disastrous. We are so proud to welcome you to-night, Miss Dwight, and--and--your charming friends. I am Jane Upton Halsey." She appeared to think no further explanation necessary. "Oh, yes," murmured the bewildered Gora. "It was you who wrote to me." "Exactly. I am chairman of the reception committee." She looked expectant, then piqued, and added hastily: "Will you come downstairs? What lovely gowns. I should like to paint you all." She herself was a symphony in pink ("dago pink," whispered Aileen wickedly), and she wore a small pink silk turban, apparently made from the same bolt as the gown. "Perhaps we should have worn hats," said Gora nervously. "I didn't know--I thought..." "You are just all right. Anything goes here. We wear what's becoming, what we can afford, and what is our own idea of the right thing. Nobody criticizes anybody else." "Now, this is life!" said Alexina to Aileen. "You will admit we never found anything like that before." "Just you watch and catch them criticizing us.... Rather effective--what?" They were descending a staircase that led directly into the crowded room below, and they looked down upon a mass of upturned expectant faces, Gora was ahead with Miss Halsey, and as she reached the floor the faces changed their angle; it was apparent that they were not interested in her satellites. "Let's stop here for a moment and watch," said Alexina. "It's too interesting. They look as if they'd eat her alive."