ornaments. They, too, moved on with
the air of automata, without emotions or any consciousness of good or
evil. They came on down, as they had come along that ancient Via
Egnatia, beneath the great arch twenty centuries ago, just as hard-eyed
janizaries had come in later times, settling in their swarms upon the
city. Down the steep ancient street they came, settling heavily into
their saddles with a clash of metal and wheeze of leather as their
horses took the descent; and watching them with shining eyes from a
doorway was Evanthia Solaris, an exquisite apparition in pale saffron
with an enormous black hat. She was raised a step or two above the
sidewalk, and Mr. Spokesly could see that slender gracile figure from
the buff-coloured shoes and stockings of sheer yellow silk to the broad
brim of black straw shading the pale dark face aglow with excitement.
One would have imagined that she was watching the soldiers of her
country riding out to defend her, or riding in to rescue her. She leaned
forward a little, her lips parted in a smile, and an officer, noticing
her in her doorway, sat straighter, raised his sword and smiled in
reply. Her response was ravishing. She blew a kiss, and Mr. Spokesly
marvelled at her enthusiasm. As well he might, for Evanthia was
rehearsing a part. Patriotism to her was a fine brave gesture and she
was practising it. It appealed to her dramatic instinct. Just as she
would suddenly smother Mrs. Dainopoulos with impulsive caresses, so she
cheered a lot of stolid soldiers who were nothing to her and in whose
sentiments she had no share. Always Evanthia was certain of some sphere
in the world where people act like this, and where they luxuriate in
rare and beautiful emotions. She played at this as a western child plays
hostess to her dolls. To her, for a brief blinding moment, it was real,
and she loved the officer with the saluting sword. And Mr. Spokesly,
rather scared, if the truth be told, and acutely conscious of his
anomalous attire, slipped into a shop and dickered with a long-nosed Jew
for a pair of Turkish slippers, while over his shoulder he saw the girl,
now the soldiers were gone, step daintily into the road and go on down,
with her delicate prinking walk, an exquisite moth among hard-eyed
ferocious-looking insects.

And so he found himself at last in a small room, behind a window full of
formidable uniforms, containing a dreamy-eyed Greek tailor and an
overworked American sewing machi