Again he heard her voice, saw the turn of her head, the slow, delightful curve of the lips, the eyes that looked into his and spoke to him the first strange whispers of a new language.

His heart gave a quick throb.

He was for the moment transformed, a prisoner no longer, a different person, indeed, from the stolid, well-behaved young man who found himself for the first time in his life in these unaccustomed surroundings.

Then Beatrice leaned towards him, her voice brought him back to the present--not, alas, the voice which at that moment he would have given so much to have heard.
"To-night," she murmured, "I feel as though we were at the beginning of new things.

We must drink a toast." Tavernake filled her glass and his own.
"Luck to you in your new profession!" he said.
"And here is one after your own heart, you most curious of men!" she exclaimed, a few seconds later.