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 gether at these gatherings and they seem to enjoy each other vastly."

Victoria longed secretly for the foolish Brown, whom she began to suspect of a sense of humor, but dared not voice her desire.

"The lady with the marabouts is the Baroness Corolla," her Virgil continued, "formerly 'Mlle. Zulie,' the chanteuse eccentrique. She wasn't much of a chanteuse, I hear, but she excelled in the eccentrique. The thick-set man? Oh, yes, that's Melville, the music critic. His divorce has just been granted; we all expect he will marry the lady over there in black with the white roses. She's Marion Delplain, the singer, and quite his affinity. That's his wife over there in sables and blue velvet—oh, dear, yes, they are great friends. He's a political economist. The slim girl? That is Miss Red, my sister." "The lady who dances so wonderfully?" asked Victoria. "I have heard of her."

"Indeed? She will be glad. I recite for her while she poses—little things of my own, suggested by the music." 104