was seated at the end of the table behind a fan-like arrangement of
white Madonna lilies, and she had bent forward and, like the others, was
looking at me, but in such a fashion that her head from that distance
seemed as though it were surrounded and crowned with lilies. Indeed the
greatest art could not have produced a more beautiful effect which was,
however, really one of naked accident.

An angel looking down upon earth through the lilies of Heaven--that was
the rather absurd thought which flashed into my mind. I did not quite
realise her face at first except that it seemed to be both dark and
fair; as a fact her waving hair which grew rather low upon her forehead,
was dark, and her large, soft eyes were grey. I did not know, and to
this moment I do not know if she was really beautiful, but certainly the
light that shone through those eyes of hers and seemed to be reflected
upon her delicate features, was beauty itself. It was like that glowing
through a thin vase of the purest alabaster within which a lamp is
placed, and I felt this effect to arise from no chance, like that of the
lily-setting, but, as it were, from the lamp of the spirit within.

Our eyes met, and I suppose that she saw the wonder and admiration
in mine. At any rate her amused smile faded, leaving the face rather
serious, though still sweetly serious, and a tinge of colour crept over
it as the first hue of dawn creeps into a pearly sky. Then she withdrew
herself behind the screen of lilies and for the rest of that dinner
which I thought was never coming to an end, practically I saw her no
more. Only I noted as she passed out that although not tall, she
was rounded and graceful in shape and that her hands were peculiarly
delicate.

Afterwards in the drawing-room her father, with whom I had talked at the
table, introduced me to her, saying:

"My daughter is the real archaeologist, Mr. Arbuthnot, and I think if
you ask her, she may be able to help you."

Then he bustled away to speak to some of his important guests, from whom
I think he was seeking political information.

"My father exaggerates," she said in a soft and very sympathetic voice,
"but perhaps"--and she motioned me to a seat at her side.

Then we talked of the places and things that I more particularly desired
to see and, well, the end of it was that I went back to my hotel in love
with Natalie; and as she afterwards confessed, she went to bed in love
with me.

It was a curious