Patty Blossom. Wells Carolyn
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with it."
But the gown was most becoming to Patty. The dull old-gold tints sets off her fair skin, and her bright gold hair, piled high, was topped with a gold and amber comb. Round her throat was an old-fashioned necklace of topazes, lent her by Mrs. Farrington. Altogether, she looked, Philip declared, positively Burne-Jonesey, and he called her the Blessed Damosel.
When at last they entered the Studio of the Blaney brother and sister, Patty blinked several times, before she could collect her senses. It was very dimly lighted, and a strange, almost stifling sense of oppression came over her. This was caused by the burning of various incense sticks and pastilles which gave out a sweet, spicy odour, and which made a slight haze of smoke. Becoming a little accustomed to the gloom, Patty discerned her host, amazingly garbed in an Oriental burnoose and a voluminous silk turban. He took her hand, made a deep salaam, and kissed her finger-tips with exaggerated ceremony.
"My sister, Alla," he said, "Miss Fairfield."
Patty looked up to see a tall, gaunt woman smiling at her. Miss Blaney, like her brother, was long, lanky and loose-jointed, and seemed to desire to accentuate these effects. Her ash-coloured hair was parted and drawn loosely down to a huge knot at the back of her neck. A band of gilt filigree was round her head at the temples, and was set with a huge green stone which rested in the middle of her forehead. Long barbaric earrings dangled and shook with every movement of her head, and round her somewhat scrawny neck was coiled an ugly greenish serpent of some flexible metal formation. For the rest, Miss Blaney wore a flowing robe of saffron yellow, a most sickly shade, and the material was frayed and worn as if it had been many times made over. It hung from her shoulders in billowy folds, and the wearer was evidently proud of it, for she continually switched its draperies about and gazed admiringly at them.
"Frightfully glad to see you," this weird creature was saying, and Patty caught her breath, and murmured, "Oh, thank you. So kind of you to ask me."
"I feel sure I shall adore you," Miss Blaney went on; "you are simpatica,—yes, absolutely simpatica."
"Am I?" and Patty smiled. "And is it nice to be simpatica? It doesn't mean a simpleton, does it?"
"Oh, how droll! My dear, how droll!" and Miss Blaney went off in contortions of silent laughter. "Just for that, you must call me Alla. I always want droll people to call me by my first name. And your name is–"
"Patty."
"Impossible! You can't be named that! Incredible! Ooh!"
Alla ended with a half-breathed shriek.
"Oh, well," said Patty, hastily, "my name is really Patricia, though no one ever calls me that."
"I shall call you that. Patricia! Perfect! You couldn't have been better dubbed. No, not possibly better dubbed. Patricia, ah, Patricia!"
Patty edged away a little. She began to think her hostess was crazy.
But Alla went on:
"And my brother, Patricia, do you not adore him?"
"Well, you see, I've only seen him a few times. I can't quite agree that I adore him, yet."
"But you will. As soon as you have heard his poems, you will put him on a pedestal, yes, on a high pedestal. And tonight you will hear him read his wonderful lines. What a treat you have in store!"
And then new arrivals claimed Miss Blaney's attention, and Patty turned aside. She found Philip waiting for her, his eyes dancing with amusement.
"What is it all?" he whispered; "a bear garden?"
"Hush, Phil, don't make me laugh. Did you ever see anything like it?"
"Well, I've been to Studio jinks, but they were to this as moonlight unto sunlight and as water unto wine! Shall I take you home?"
"No, indeed! I want to see the fun. I've never been to a Studio jinks,—or whatever you call it, and I want to live and learn."
"All right, Patty. You shall stay as long as you like, but I'll wager that inside of an hour you'll be begging me to get you out of it."
"All right, if I do, I shall expect you to take me away. Let's look at the room."
They sauntered about, and finally sat down on a Turkish divan, which proved much lower than they had anticipated.
"What an uncomfortable thing!" said Patty, "but sit here a minute, while I look round."
From the ceiling hung Moorish-looking lamps, which gave almost no light, and, were of rather dilapidated appearance. The furniture, too, was not only antique, but wabbly-legged and here and there tied up with strings or leather thongs. Statuettes were about, broken and dusty; jugs and bowls of dull brass and copper; rickety screens; enormous unframed photographs, warped and faded, but bearing splashing and unintelligible autographs; and draperies of all sorts, from old shawls to tattered ecclesiastical robes.
"I see what Mr. Blaney meant by the key of saffron," said Patty, sagely. "Everything is that colour because of the accumulation of dust and dirt! I don't believe this place has ever had a good house-cleaning!"
"Oh, Patty, my dear child! Don't thus expose your ignorance! Bohemia never cleans house! The very thought is sacrilege!"
"Why is it? Some of this old brass stuff would be lovely if it were cleaned up. And look at that copper kettle! It's positively blue!"
"But that's what they want, dear," said Van Reypen, smiling at her.
"Howsumever, I'm glad you don't like it. We won't model our home on a Bohemian plan."
"And look at the people," went on Patty, in an awe-struck whisper. "Some of them are decent, like our crowd,—but look at that girl in orange!"
The girl in question wore a costume of flame-coloured woolen material that was indeed striking. Her black hair was in two long braids, and she was carrying a small musical instrument that Philip said was a zithern.
"I don't know," he went on, "but I fancy she will play a sort of accompaniment to our host's poems. They generally work it that way."
"Stop making fun, Phil," reproved Patty; "perhaps the poems will be lovely,—with musical setting."
"Perhaps," said Philip.
CHAPTER III
The place became crowded. The two rooms occupied by the guests were small, and the party was a large one. Though not greatly attracted by the unusual sights and strange people, Patty was interested and curious. She wanted to see the affair in its entirety, and was glad when Sam Blaney came over to where she sat by Philip on the divan.
"I've come to carry you off," Blaney said to her; "you must mingle with the crowd, if you want to become one of us."
"I'd like to mingle a little," Patty replied, "but I can't hope to become one of such a talented bunch as this."
"They're not all so talented," Blaney assured her, as he led her away, leaving Philip a bit moody and disapproving.
"It's their clothes that astound me," said Patty. "Why do they wear such queer rigs? Almost like a masquerade or fancy-dress ball. You, for instance; why do you wear this Oriental robe and turban?"
"Now that you ask me, I don't believe I know! But it's habit, I think. Yes, that's it, it's just habit. We who possess higher intellect than our fellows must differentiate ourselves in some way from them, and how else but by a difference of raiment?"
"Well, that does explain it, but why such queer raiment? Why not beautiful garments instead of eccentric ones?"
"Ah, that's just it! They are beautiful, only you're not of sufficient intelligence to appreciate their beauty."
"What!" cried Patty, scarcely able to believe she had heard aright,
"I'm not intelligent enough–"
"Oh, don't get miffed. Your natural intelligence is all right, you've plenty of it. But it needs education,—bending in the right direction, you know. And I'm going to educate you. You're the most promising subject I've ever seen. I'll make a priestess of you,—a shining light,—a prophetess–"
Patty