Latter when she came in, but that was because everything in it was black. The carpet on the floor, the hangings covering the walls, the long straight curtains were all of the same even velvety blackness. But it was not as dark as she had thought. Through the one unscreened window, light shone in. She found herself facing this light, as she faced the man who called himself “Memnon” across the table which stood between them. It was quite a small table, covered with a black velvet spread, and seeming smaller because the old man in the chair was so large. As she took the seat he indicated she looked at him curiously. If he thought he could impress or frighten her by all this jiggery-pokery he could think again. She was a fool to have come. But when all your friends were doing something you did it too. If you didn’t—well, what was there to talk about? Everybody was talking about Memnon. He told you the most thrilling things. He told the past, and he told the future.
