“Might I ask how and when and where I am to meet this wonderful man?”

“At the garden-party.”

“In what way am I to get there?”

“By strategy.  There is a little reunion to-night of what may be called female Bohemians.  They are going to settle the preliminaries of this party, and if you happen to be present they will invite you; not that they particularly care for your company, but because, as I said, you happen to be there.  Only don’t get yourself into a mess by tramping on any one’s toes.”

“Have they corns?”

“Yes, on every inch of surface:  they are dreadfully thin-skinned.  But they hate sham even more than a hard knock, and are quicker than a police-officer in detecting it; so be careful not to talk about anything you are ignorant of.”

“Give me a few rules, and I promise to conduct myself properly.”

“Well, don’t be snobbish and patronize them, and don’t look shocked at any strange opinions you hear, nor act as if you were at an animal show and were wondering what would happen next.  Be sure not to assent when you see they wish to argue, and don’t argue when they expect acquiescence.  If any of them speak in broken English, and you can’t for the life of you understand, don’t ask them to repeat, but answer immediately, for you can imagine when one has taken pains to learn a foreign language one likes it to be appreciated, and don’t—­But here we are.  In short, make yourself at home, as if you had been there all your life.”

“Afra,” I said, laying my hand on her arm as she took to her swift pace again, “perhaps I had better go home:  I am afraid I can’t—­I think—­that is—­”

“Nonsense! as if you could not get on after all those hints!  Anyway, you cannot return alone, and I am unable to go with you.  Make up your mind to blunder, and do it.  There was an amateur visited the studio about three months ago:  her absurdities have lasted us for laughing material ever since.  As she is getting rather stale, you can take her place.  This is the house:  come in.”

With this doubtful prospect in view I followed my peremptory guide from the narrow street into what appeared to be a spacious court, but as the only light it received was from a blinking candle in the window of the conciergerie, I could not determine.  After exchanging some cabalistic sentences with a toothless old woman, the proprietor of the candle, Afra turned to the right, and walking a few steps came to a door opening on a stairway, which we mounted.  I can think of nothing black enough for comparison with the darkness surrounding us.  At last a faint glimmer showed an old lamp standing in a corner of a hall bare and carpetless.  A series of doors flanked the place, looking to my unaccustomed eyes all alike, but Afra without a moment’s hesitation went to one of them and knocked.  It was opened by a lady, who smiled and said, “Enter.  You are just in time:  school is over and the model about going.”