he gospel of Paul Mario; in
_The Gates_ painters found fresh subjects for their brushes, and the
literature of the world became a mirror reflecting Paul's doctrine. Here
was no brilliant spark to dazzle for a moment and die, but a beacon
burning ever brighter on which humanity, race by race, fixed a steadfast
gaze. Theosophy acclaimed him the new Buddha, and in Judaism a sect
arose who saw, in Paul, Isaiah reborn.

But Flamby was afraid. Paul's theory that the arts had taken the place
of the sibyls, that man was only an instrument of higher powers which
shaped the Universe, dismayed her; for upon seeking to analyse the
emotions which _The Gates_ aroused she thought that she could discern
the origin of this fear in an unfamiliar note which now and again
intruded, a voice unlike the voice of Paul Mario. He was sometimes
dominated by an alien influence, perhaps was so dominated throughout
save that the control did not throughout reveal its presence. His own
work proved his theory to be true. It was a concept of life beyond human
ken revealed through the genius of a master mind. Such revelations in
the past had only been granted to mystics who had sought them in a life
of self-abnegation far from the world. It was no mere reshuffling of the
Tarot of the Initiates, but in many respects was a new gospel, and
because that which is unknown is thought to be wonderful, in questing
the source of Paul's inspiration Flamby constantly found her thoughts to
be focussed upon Jules Thessaly.

At this time she had won recognition from the artistic coterie, or
mutual admiration society, which stands for English art, although her
marked independence of intellect had held her to some extent aloof from
their ever-changing "cults." But she had met those painters,
illustrators, sculptors, critics, dealers and art editors who
"mattered." Practically all of them seemed to know Thessaly; many
regarded him as the most influential living patron of art; yet Flamby
had never met Thessaly, had never even seen him. She had heard that he
possessed a striking personality, she knew that he often lunched at
Regali's and sometimes visited the Cafe Royal. People had said to her,
"There goes Jules Thessaly"--and she had turned just too late, always
too late. Orlando James had arranged for her to meet him at luncheon one
day, and Thessaly had been summoned to Paris on urgent business. At
first Flamby had thought little of the matter, but latterly she had
tho