Yet, in spite of his bewilderment and confusion, he was able to follow one of the voices, which, in its peculiar distinctness and half-perfunctory tone, he concluded must belong to the host of the invisible assembly. “Ah,” said the voice, greeting some unseen visitor, “so glad you have come. Afraid your engagements just now would keep you away.” Then the voice dropped to a lower and more confidential tone. “You must take down Lady Dartman, but you will have Miss Morecamp--a clever girl--on the other side of you. Ah, Sir George! So good of you to come. All well at the Priory? So glad to hear it.” (Lower and more confidentially.) “You know Mrs. Monkston. You'll sit by her. A little cut up by her husband losing his seat. Try to amuse her.” Emboldened by desperation, Paul turned in the direction of the voice. “I am Paul Bunker,” he said hesitatingly. “I'm afraid you'll think me intrusive, but I was looking for my uncle, and”-- “Intrusive, my dear boy! The son of my near neighbor in the country intrusive? Really, now, I like that! Grace!” (the voice turned in another direction) “here is the American nephew of our neighbor Bunker at Widdlestone, who thinks he is 'a stranger.'” “We all knew of your expected arrival at Widdlestone--it was so good of you to waive ceremony and join us,” said a well-bred feminine voice, which Paul at once assumed to belong to the hostess. “But I must find some one for your dinner partner. Mary” (here her voice was likewise turned away), “this is Mr. Bunker, the nephew of an old friend and neighbor in Upshire;” (the voice again turned to him), “you will take Miss Morecamp in. My dear” (once again averted), “I must find some one else to console poor dear Lord Billingtree with.” Here the hostess's voice was drowned by fresh arrivals. Bewildered and confused as he was, standing in this empty desert of a drawing-room, yet encompassed on every side by human voices, so marvelous was the power of suggestion, he seemed to almost feel the impact of the invisible crowd. He was trying desperately to realize his situation when a singularly fascinating voice at his elbow unexpectedly assisted him. It was evidently his dinner partner. “I suppose you must be tired after your journey. When did you arrive?” “Only a few hours ago,” said Paul. “And I dare say you haven't slept since you arrived. One doesn't on the passage, you know; the twenty hours pass so quickly, and the experience is so exciting--to US at least. But I suppose as an American you are used to it.” Paul gasped. He had passively accepted the bodiless conversation, because it was at least intelligible! But NOW! Was he going mad?