bark cloth, gleamed savage weapons
arranged in circular trophies--the war spears of the Wanandi, the
swords of the Masai, the bows and poisoned arrows of the Wakamba,
besides jeweled yataghans, scimitars with gilded hilts, and damascened
pistols. Over the bookcases--which were crammed full of heavy volumes,
portfolios, and maps--appeared framed photographs; among the likenesses
of Europeans in duck tunics one saw the visages of Egyptians, Persians,
and Arabs, or some ghastly black apparition daubed with white paint and
crowned with a shako of squirrel fur and plumes.

In the air there was a faint odor of skins, dried herbs, sandalwood,
and camphor. But on the center table, in a large African gourd that
had been polished till it looked like porcelain, stood the little
bouquet that some one had presented to her at the restaurant.

These flowers, because neither he nor she had thought to give them
water, were already faded.

"Have you telephoned to the Brassfields?"

"Yes," she said, with a wan smile, "and caused quite a sensation."

A small, wiry, middle-aged man, with an honest, lantern-jawed face,
entered the living room bearing a breakfast tray. After one glance,
keeping his eyes cast down, he bowed respectfully.

He was Parr, Lawrence Teck's valet in America and right-hand man in
Africa.

With her head bent forward, she stared at some petals that had fallen
from the gourd. Her neck rose from the white burnoose in a curve of
the palest amber; her delicate lips were parted; her loosened tresses
were filled with the feeble sunshine. She seemed to symbolize quiet.
But when the telephone bell rang she started violently.

It was a call from Long Island, where Aunt Althea Balbian was
summering. The servants had learned of Lilla's whereabouts from the
Brassfields. Aunt Althea had fallen seriously ill in the night.

Parr showed his downcast eyelids and lantern jaws in the doorway.

"A maid is here from madam's house downtown with a steamer trunk and
three suitcases."

"Tell her to take them back," Lilla said in a muffled voice.

She had planned to go as far as London with Lawrence.

She went to a bookcase, knelt down, and scanned the titles of the books.

"I shall read these," she murmured. "I shall take them home with me,
stack by stack, and read them all. At night I'll read the ones that
are worn from your hands, the dog-eared ones full of pencil marks.
Show me those that you care for most. Have you