Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. The program was to include a Bach cantata, her favorite piece from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and for the first time ever, a student composition, a Concerto, by a precociously talented fellow student named Martin Chen. The plank hung over his head. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. ‘You will not guess again?’ ‘No, no, I am quite out of ideas.
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