"But I don't know these people, and I'm not properly dressed," objected
Bob.
"They know me. And as for dress, if you'd arrange to wear a chaste
feather duster only, you'd make a hit."
A roomful of people were buzzing like a hive. Most were in conventional
evening dress. Here and there, however, Bob caught hints of masculine
long hair, of feminine psyche knots, bandeaux and other extremely
artistic but unusual departures. One man with his dinner jacket wore a
soft linen shirt perforated by a Mexican drawn-work pattern beneath
which glowed a bright red silk undergarment. Women's gowns on the
flowing and Grecian order were not uncommon. These were usually coupled
with the incongruity of parted hair brought low and madonna-wise over
the ears. As the two entered, a very powerful blond man was just
finishing the declamation of a French poem. He was addressing it
directly at two women seated on a sofa.
"_Un r-r-reve d'amour!_"
He concluded with much passion and clasped hands.
In the rustle ensuing after this effort, Baker led his friend down the
room to a very fat woman upholstered in pink satin, to whom he
introduced Bob.
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