"Oh," she cried from the door, "I forgot to announce my two important bits of good news. Mr. Martin is going to write me a comedy and Eugene Gresham is going to paint my portrait."
A faint smile hovered for one moment about Perdita's lips. "When did Eugene make his request?" she asked in her usual low tones, although her head lifted suddenly.
"This afternoon," replied Fuschia, and Dita's smile deepened. "And he is going to give me a fête in his studio."
"The usual ball in the artist's studio?" laughed Maud looking at Martin.
"Don't you dream it," Fuschia laughed irrepressibly, also; "not the stage kind with its crowd of maskers. This is to be patterned after an afternoon among the great artists in Japan. You wear Japanese things and crawl through a little door into a room with nothing in it but just one perfect flower in a perfect vase, and we will all sit on the floor and drink tea."
"It sounds very much like him," said Maud, "but is it true Wallace that you are really going to do a play for Miss Fleming?"
"It happily is," said Martin, "a comedy."
"Not a problem play?" The light of hope dawned in Miss Carmine's eyes.
"Oh, dear me, no," cried Fuschia; "and he's going to write it just as he talks."
"I'd very much prefer to have you talk it as I write," said Martin, but she had already vanished.