We were taken to Mrs. Cowper in a large room which was a cross between a very elaborate boudoir and a hot house. That is to say, it was lighted by skylights like a studio, carpeted with some soft material into which one's feet sank almost to the ankles-I found out later that a thin mattress lay underneath the carpet-and was full of flowers and ferns of every kind. From the roof of an alcove depended a vine covered with luscious grapes. A table bearing a glittering tea equipment stood in one corner, various small tables bore wine and spirit decanters. We were ushered in by a large page boy, a dark boy, an octoroon I thought, and exquisitely beautiful, with a kind of girlish loveliness. “Surely it's a girl,” I whispered to Nelly, nodding towards the boy.

“Oh, is he,” said our hostess, rising, “Come here, Claude.”

When the boy came to her, she laid her hand on the front of his trousers, slipped down her fingers and showed us a dear little standing prick. The boy laughed and made his escape.

Then Mrs. Cowper noticed me: “Good Heavens, Nelly,” she cried, “I had no idea you'd brought a stranger; whatever must she think of me, my dear?”

I could not do anything but blush, and Mrs. Cowper continued: “After all, I daresay Nelly has told you we're not very proper here,” and she laid her arms on my shoulders, kissing me lovingly on the lips.

Mrs. Cowper was I suppose about thirty-five, and uncommonly beautiful. Her figure was perfection, and the dress she wore showed off all of its delights. The dress was carried out in a design of ferns. Ferns, quite small at the waist, but gathering size as they fell lower, made the skirt; the bodice was one large bunch of ferns, out of which grew her ivory neck and shoulders; she had ferns in her hair, and two little pearl and diamond ferns for earrings.