It was the final evening, Saturday, of the greatest Charity Fête Hedgewood had ever witnessed. From the gayly decorated piazza of Rao Singh's villa to the waters of the Sound glimmering under a hundred lights the broad, smooth slope of the Hindu's grounds had been transformed into a scene out of the Arabian Nights. A broad grass avenue lined with striped canvas booths and tents and lighted with strikingly colored Chinese lanterns stretched from the house to the dock. There were fortune teller's tents, tents that advertised in lurid canvas posters the mysteries expounded by the Hindu fakirs within, booths where knitted goods, donated knick-knacks and even produce and fruit from the countryside was sold. Pretty society girls in Oriental costumes of odd batik design tried to cajole the crowd into open booths where they might risk small amounts on games of chance such as one finds at church bazaars. (Rao-Singh had inquired why he could not install roulette, with Hayden as croupier, but Carmelita turned that idea down.)
