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 unsaid, of course; so forgive me. At any rate, last night made me glad I'd hung on at least till then. I was no end sorry you hadn't overlooked your cold and come with us."

"Really! It was quite what Mr. Rennie said it would be, then?"

"Quite! You could add something to that, if you cared to."

"Really! What was it like, Charles?"

"I couldn't possibly tell you," he said. "It was one of those things you have to see and hear yourself; you'll get only a feeble water colour of it from me. I think a chap like Beethoven might have put it into music; but I doubt if Robert Browning could have done it in verse."

"Really! It was as impressive as all that?"

Impressive, he said, and laughed again briefly, in his discontent with her word. "Would you say that of the volcano yonder? Last night I thought it was the tent of Zeus and that the god himself was in bivouac there. We sat where Cicero had sat, I think; and long before him, Plato. It seemed to me I could see processions of all the dead Greeks who had sat in that theatre; they came sweeping up out of the sea and down out of the sky on the shafts of moon-