How could I introduce them to _her_ ?" Then, as if impatient with himself, he murmured, in a vexed tone, "Why should I _think_ of introducing them to my mother?
A few hours ago I didn't know of their existence." He threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep; but memory was too busy with the scene of enchantment he had recently left.

A catalpa-tree threw its shadow on the moon-lighted curtain.

He began to count the wavering leaves, in hopes the monotonous occupation would induce slumber.

After a while he forgot to count; and as his spirit hovered between the inner and the outer world, Floracita seemed to be dancing on the leaf shadows in manifold graceful evolutions.

Then he was watching a little trickling fountain, and the falling drops were tones of "The Light of other Days." Anon he was wandering among flowers in the moonlight, and from afar some one was heard singing "Casta Diva." The memory of that voice, "While slept the limbs and senses all, Made everything seem musical." Again and again the panorama of the preceding evening revolved through the halls of memory with every variety of fantastic change.