He led the way into a spacious and beautiful room, filled with the composite hum of voices and the scent of half-hidden flowers.  The Westerner glanced avidly about him, noting here a spoken name familiar in print, there a face recognized from far-spread photographic reproduction.

“Some different from Ban’s shack on the desert,” he muttered.  “Hello!  Mr. Edmonds, who’s the splendid-looking woman in brown with the yellow orchids, over there in the seat back of the palms?”

Edmonds leaned forward to look.  “Royce Melvin, the composer, I believe.  I haven’t met her.”

“I have, then,” returned the other, as the guest changed her position, fully revealing her face.  “Tried to dig some information out of her once.  Like picking prickly pears blindfold.  That’s Camilla Van Arsdale.  What a coincidence to find her here!”

“No!  Camilla Van Arsdale?  You’ll excuse me, won’t you?  I want to speak to her.  Make yourself known to any one you like the looks of.  That’s the rule of the house; no introductions.”

He walked across the room, made his way through the crescent curving about Miss Van Arsdale, and, presenting himself, was warmly greeted.

“Let me take you to Ban,” he said.  “He’ll want to see you at once.”

“But won’t it disturb his work?”

“Nothing does.  He writes with an open door and a shut brain.”

He led her up the east flight of stairs and down a long hallway to an end room with door ajar, notwithstanding that even at that distance the hum of voices and the muffled throbbing of the concert grand piano from below were plainly audible.  Banneker’s voice, regular, mechanical, desensitized as the voices of those who dictate habitually are prone to become, floated out: 

“Quote where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise end quote comma said a poet who was also a cynic period.  Many poets are comma but not the greatest period.  Because of their—­turn back to the beginning of the paragraph, please, Miss Westlake.”

“I’ve brought up an old friend, Ban,” announced Edmonds, pushing wide the door.

Vaguely smiling, for he had trained himself to be impervious to interruptions, the editorializer turned in his chair.  Instantly he sprang to his feet, and caught Miss Van Arsdale by both hands.

“Miss Camilla!” he cried.  “I thought you said you couldn’t come.”

“I’m defying the doctors,” she replied.  “They’ve given me so good a report of myself that I can afford to.  I’ll go down now and wait for you.”

“No; don’t.  Sit up here with me till I finish.  I don’t want to lose any of you,” said he affectionately.

But she laughingly refused, declaring that he would be through all the sooner for his other guests, if she left him.

“See that she meets some people, Bop,” Banneker directed.  “Gaines of The New Era, if he’s here, and Betty Raleigh, and that new composer, and the Junior Masters.”