after astounding struggles in a dressing-room in which Nick alone saved
their lives and reputations, appeared in Japanese disguise according to
promise, and nobody could tell whether Audrey was maid, wife, or widow. She
might have been a creature created on the spot, for the celestial purpose
of a fancy-dress ball in Monsieur Dauphin's studio.

The studio was very large and rather lofty. Its walls had been painted by
gifted pupils of Monsieur Dauphin and by fellow-artists, with scenes of
life according to Catullus, Theocritus, Propertius, Martial, Petronius, and
other classical writers. It is not too much to say that the walls of the
studio constituted a complete novelty for Audrey and Miss Ingate. Miss
Ingate opened her mouth to say something, but, saying nothing, forgot for a
long time to shut it again.

Chinese lanterns, electrically illuminated, were strung across the studio
at a convenient height so that athletic dancers could prodigiously leap up
and make them swing. Beneath this incoherent but exciting radiance the
guests swayed and glided, in a joyous din, under the influence of an
orchestra of men snouted like pigs and raised on a dais. In a corner was a
spiral staircase leading to the flat roof of the studio and a view of all
Paris. Up and down this corkscrew contending parties fought amiably for the
right of way.

Tommy and Nick began instantly to perform introductions between Audrey and
Miss Ingate and the other guests. In a few moments Audrey had failed to
catch the names of a score and a half of people--many Americans, some
French, some Argentine, one or two English. They were all very talented
people, and, according to Miss Ingate, the most characteristically French
were invariably either Americans or Argentines.