s the official welcome----"

"Yes, I met the party."

Bedient perceived that the Spaniard missed little that was going on in
the city and Island; also that he believed Jaffier's convoy had
something to do with his own presence at _The Pleiad_; and finally that
Celestino Rey was not trained to truth. In fact, Bedient had done more
to disconcert the master of the establishment by stating the exact
facts, than by any strategy he might have evolved.... Bedient arose at
length and took the cold hand. He could not forbear a laugh.

"I am flexible enough to appreciate your position," he said. "As an
acknowledged resource of the government, I suppose it is rather hard to
see me--at this particular moment in the history of Equatoria--as
carrying anything so simple as a friendly token."

"You are very absorbing to me, Mr. Bedient," the Senor said delicately.
"An old man may express his fondness.... I am glad _The Pleiad_ pleases
you. I have built it out of the clods that the world has hurled at me,
and have preserved enough vitality to laugh at it all. I find it best
to keep down the tension----"

The younger man assisted the Spaniard to his feet.

"Ah, thank you," said the Senor, bowing. "I am dead below the knees."

Bedient strolled a bit in the gardens. Framtree, if anywhere in the
establishment, did not show himself outside, nor in the buffet,
library, billiard-hall, nor lobby. The extent and grandeur of the house
was astonishing, as well as the extreme efficiency of the service. A
Chinese was within hand-clap momentarily. There seemed scores of them,
fleet, silent, immaculate, full of understanding. Their presence did
not bore one, as a plethora of white servants might have done. Bedient
reflected that the Chinese have not auras of the obtruding sort.... In
his room finally, he drew a chair up to the window, and sat down
without turning on light.

He had never felt wider awake than now, and midnight struck. He could
not keep his thoughts upon the different facets of the present
adventure, but back they carried him through the studio-days, one after
another, steadily, relentlessly toward the end. It was like the beating
of the bass in one of those remorseless Russian symphonies.... The
ride--the halt upon the highway at high noon--the kiss in that glorious
light--her wonderful feminine spirit ... and then the blank until they
were at her mother's house. He never could drive his thoughts into that
woodland path. From