WHITEWASH
It is the cream of what society thinks is Bohemia, an exhibition of genuine Angoras. No man admitted to the inner circle unless his ambrosial locks sweep his collar—the collar generally needs it badly. I go constantly. It's a morbid craving, but I can't control it."
Victoria discovered a box of chocolates and fell on them voraciously. "My dear, I've seen such a lot of foolishness in the Paris studios that I must beg to be excused."
Mrs. Durham left her desk and came across to the seductive sweets. "No, you never saw anything like this," she insisted, "it has to be seen to be believed. It is a collection of creatures impossible in any other society but the great, gullible American beau monde. Nowhere else would such a delightful aggregation of side-show freaks be taken seriously. I love them, I am filled with a fiendish glee whenever I go. It's like living in a farce comedy. You'd better come."
"All right," Victoria assented. "How does one dress?"
"Soulfully. Soul is the key-note of these
