She was a carefully groomed woman, as artificial as French heels.  Yet indeed it was that studied artificiality which constituted her chief attraction.  As Harris greeted her I noted that Clare was amazed at the daring cut of her gown, which excited comment even at the Futurist.

Her smooth, full, well-rounded face with its dark olive skin and just a faint trace of colour on either cheek, her snappy hazel eyes whose fire was heightened by the penciling of the eyebrows, all were a marvel of the dexterity of her artificial beautifier.  And yet in spite of all there was an air of unextinguishable coarseness about her which it was difficult to describe, but easy to feel.  “Her lips are too thick and her mouth too large,” remarked Clare, “and yet in some incomprehensible way she gives you the impression of daintiness.  What is it?”

“The woman is frankly deceptive from the tip of her aigrette to the toes of her shoes,” observed Craig.

“And yet,” smiled Clare, watching with interest the little stir her arrival had made among the revellers, “you can see that she is the envy of every woman here who has slaved and toiled for that same effect without approaching within miles of it or attracting one quarter the notice for her pains that this woman receives.”

Dr. Harris was evidently in his element at the attention which his companion attracted.  They seemed to be on very good terms indeed, and one felt that Bohemianism could go no further.

They paused, fortunately, at a just vacated table around an “L” from us and sat down.  For once waiters seemed to vie in serving rather than in neglecting.

By this time I had gained the impression that the Futurist was all that its name implied—­not up to the minute, but decidedly ahead of it.  There was an exotic flavour to the place, a peculiar fascination, that was foreign rather than American, at seeing demi-monde and decency rubbing elbows.  I felt sure that a large percentage of the women there were really young married women, whose first step downward was truly nothing worse than saying they had been at their whist clubs when in reality it was tango and tea.  What the end might be to one who let the fascination blind her perspective I could imagine.

Dr. Harris and “Marie” were nearer the dancing floor than we were, but seemed oblivious to it.  Now and then as the music changed we could catch a word or two.

He was evidently making an effort to be gay, to counteract the feeling which she had concealed as she came in, but which had the upper hand now that they were seated.

“Won’t you dance?” I heard him say.

“No, Harry.  I came here to tell you about how things are going.”

There was a harshness about her voice which I recognized as belonging exclusively to one class of women in the city.  She lowered it as she went on talking earnestly.

“It looks as though someone has squealed, but who—­” I caught in the fragmentary lulls of the revelry.