t her
slim arms escaped; her short fair hair a little tumbled; her big grey
eyes grave; her full lips shaping with a strange daintiness round every
word--and they not many; brilliant red shades over golden lights dotting
the black walls; a blue divan; a little black piano flush with the wall;
a dark polished floor; four Japanese prints; a white ceiling. He was
conscious that his own khaki spoiled something as curious and rare as
some old Chinese tea-chest. He even remembered what they ate; lobster;
cold pigeon pie; asparagus; St. Ivel cheese; raspberries and cream.
He did not remember half so well what they talked of, except that he
himself told them stories of the Boer War, in which he had served in
the Yeomanry, and while he was telling them, the girl, like a child
listening to a fairy-tale, never moved her eyes from his face. He
remembered that after supper they all smoked cigarettes, even the tall
child, after the padre had said to her mildly, "My dear!" and she had
answered: "I simply must, Daddy, just one." He remembered Leila brewing
Turkish coffee--very good, and how beautiful her white arms looked,
hovering about the cups. He remembered her making the padre sit down at
the piano, and play to them. And she and the girl on the divan together,
side by side, a strange contrast; with just as strange a likeness to
each other. He always remembered how fine and rare that music sounded
in the little room, flooding him with a dreamy beatitude. Then--he
remembered--Leila sang, the padre standing-by; and the tall child on
the divan bending forward over her knees, with her chin on her hands. He
remembered rather vividly how Leila turned her neck and looked up, now
at the padre, now at himself; and, all through, the delightful sense
of colour and warmth, a sort of glamour over all the evening; and the
lingering pressure of Leila's hand when he said good-bye and they went
away, for they all went together. He remembered talking a great deal to
the padre in the cab, about the public school they had both been at, and
thinking: 'It's a good padre--this!' He remembered how their taxi took
them to an old Square which he did not know, where the garden trees
looked densely black in the starshine. He remembered that a man outside
the house had engaged the padre in earnest talk, while the tall child
and himself stood in the open doorway, where the hall beyond was dark.
Very exactly he remembered the little conversation which then took pl