"That's impossible," said the neighbor, yawning. "Boredom is an
ultimate. There's nothing beyond it; consequently, you can't be more
than bored."

"You're wrong," said Lady Derl from behind them. "For a man there's
always something beyond boredom: there's going home."

"_Touché_," cried Lewis and then suddenly straightened. While they had
been chatting, the curtain of the improvised stage at one end of the
ball-room had gone up. In the center of the stage stood a figure that
Lewis would have recognized at once even if he had not been a
participant in the secret.

The figure was that of a tall woman. Her dark hair--and there was plenty
of it--was done in the Greek style. So were her clothes, if such filmy
draperies could be justly termed clothes. They were caught up under her
breasts, and hung in airy loops to a little below her knees. They were
worn so skilfully that art did not appear. They fluttered about her
softly moving limbs, but never flew. The woman was apparently
blindfolded--with chiffon. The foamy bandage proved an efficient mask.
Chiffon and draperies were of that color known to connoisseurs as
_cuisse de nymphe_.

A buzz of interested questioning swept over the company. Mrs.
Ruttle-Marter, who had been quite abandoned for over an hour, suddenly
found herself the center of a curious and eager group.

"Who is she?" "What is she?" "Where did you get her?"