in dull disdain. "William Dean has erased all romance from
modern life with one smear of his honest thumb!"

"The honest thumb that persistently and patiently rubs the scales from
sapphire and golden wings in order to be certain that the vination of
the Ornithoptera is still underneath, is not the digit of inspiration,"
suggested Hamil.

The disciple turned a dull brick-colour; but he betrayed neither his
master nor himself.

"What, in God's name," he asked heavily, "is an ornithoptera?"

A very thin author, who had been listening and twisting himself into a
number of shapes, thrust his neck forward into the arena and considered
Hamil with the pale grimace of challenge.

"Henry Haynes?" he inquired--"your appreciation in one phrase, Mr.
Hamil."

"In a Henry Haynes phrase?" asked Hamil good-humouredly.

"The same old calumny?" said the thin author, writhing almost off his
chair.

"I'm afraid so; and the remedy a daily dose of verbifuge--until he gets
back to the suffocated fount of inspiration. I am very sorry if I seem
to differ from everybody, but everybody seems to differ from me, so I
can't help it."

A Swami, unctuous and fat, and furious at the lack of feminine
attention, said something suavely outrageous about modern women. He was
immediately surrounded by several mature examples who adored to be
safely smitten by the gelatinous and esoteric.

A little flabby, featureless, but very fashionable portrait painter
muttered to Hamil: "Orient and Occident! the molluskular and the
muscular. Mr. Hamil, do you realise _what_ the Occident is?"

"Geographically?" inquired Hamil wearily.

"No, symbolically. It is that!" explained the painter, doubling his
meagre biceps and punching at the infinite, with a flattened thumb.
"That," he repeated, "is America. Do you comprehend?"

The wan young girl who had spoken of the purple perfume of petunias said
that _she_ understood. It may be that she did; she reviewed literature
for the _Tribune_.

Harried and restless, Hamil looked for Shiela and saw Portlaw, very hot
and uncomfortable in his best raiment, shooting his cuffs and looking
dully about for some avenue of escape; and Hamil, exasperated with
purple perfumes and thumbs, meanly snared him and left him to confront a
rather ample and demonstrative young girl who believed that all human
thought was precious--even sinful thought--of which she knew as much as
a newly hatched caterpillar. However, Portlaw was able