"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.
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