“Sibyl!” he murmured.
“Not this time, it’s Diana—is she like Sibyl? I am so glad—well, darling, talk!”
The slim being sat on his bed and sticking out her feet, on which twin shoe-buckles twinkled, urged him to amuse her. He dreaded “This little pig went to market” played through the bedclothes. He saw Diana eyeing the spot where she must know his toes were bound to be.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“Pillar opened wide the portal and we walked in. He wasn’t in the least surprised.”
“Not surprised?”
“Not in the least. He said we might turn up the carpet and dance—if we liked. He offered us a gramaphone—his own—to dance to.”
“My dear Diana, you ought to be in bed.”
“Ought? Why?”
“It’s time.”