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Not only to Anthony and Maury did he pour out his hopes and boasts and indecisions, but to any one who could be prevailed upon to listen. And latest among his confidantes was Mrs. Gilbert, who sat with him by the hour and alternated between Bilphism and literature in an intense cross-fire. "Shakespeare was a Bilphist," she assured him through a fixed smile. "Oh, yes! He was a Bilphist.
Her mother's a practising Bilphist, and her father's quite dull but a perfect gentleman." "What are they? Literary material?" "They try to be. All the old man does is tell me he just met the most wonderful character for a novel. Then he tells me about some idiotic friend of his and then he says: 'There's a character for you! Why don't you write him up?
It was due to his death that Anthony made a new discovery concerning Gloria. On the journey East she disclosed herself, astonishingly, as a Bilphist. "Why, Gloria," he cried, "you don't mean to tell me you believe that stuff." "Well," she said defiantly, "why not?" "Because it's it's fantastic. You know that in every sense of the word you're an agnostic.
Maury was unruffled; his fur seemed to run all ways. "As a matter of fact we did talk on Bilphism. Seems her mother's a Bilphist. Mostly, though, we talked about legs." Anthony rocked in glee. "My God! Whose legs?" "Hers. She talked a lot about hers. As though they were a sort of choice bric-a-brac. She aroused a great desire to see them." "What is she a dancer?"
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