He remembered how even the tolerant Heywood shot a questioning glance toward his wine-glass.

He remembered telling a brilliant story, and reciting "Old Captain Mau in Vegesack,"-- rhymes long forgotten, now fluent and spontaneous.

The applause was a triumph.

Through it, as through a haze, he saw a pair of wide blue eyes shining with startled admiration.
But the best came when the sun had lowered behind the grove, the company grown more silent, and Mrs.Forrester, leaning beside the door of the tower, turned the great pegs of a Chinese lute.

The notes tinkled like a mandolin, but with now and then an alien wail, a lament unknown to the West.