he spoke, and how
much was only hinted or called up--in his voice and his gesture and his
eye. They had not known that Athens was like this! They spoke in lowered
voices, moving apart a little, and making place for the silver trays
that began to pass among them. They glanced now and then at the dark man
nibbling his biscuit absently and looking with unfathomable eyes into a
teacup.

A large woman approached him, her ample bust covered with little beads
that rose and fell and twinkled as she talked. "I liked your talk, Mr.
Alexis, and I am going over just as soon as my husband can get away from
his business." She looked at him with approval, waiting for his.

He bowed with deep, grave gesture. "My country is honoured, madame."

Other listeners were crowding upon them now, commending the fire-tipped
words, felicitating the man with pretty gesture and soft speech,
patronising him for the Parthenon and his country and her art. ... The
mistress of the house, moving in and out among them, watched the play
with a little look of annoyance.... He would be spoiled--a man of that
class. She glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand. It bore the
name, "Achilles Alexandrakis," and below it a generous sum to his order.
She made her way toward him, and waited while he disengaged himself
from the little throng about him and came to her, a look of pleasure and
service in his face.

"You speak to me, madame?"

"I wanted to give you this." She slipped the check into the thin
fingers. "You can look at it later--"

But already the fingers had raised it with a little look of pleased
surprise.... Then the face darkened, and he laid the paper on the
polished table between them. There was a quick movement of the slim
fingers that pushed it toward her.

"I cannot take it, madame--to speak of my country. I speak for the
child--and for you." He bowed low. "I give please to do it."

The next moment he had saluted her with gentle grace and was gone from
the room--from the house--between the stone lions and down the Lake
Shore Drive, his free legs swinging in long strides, his head held high
to the wind on the opal lake.

A carriage passed him, and he looked up. Two figures, erect in the sun,
the breath of a child's smile, a bit of shimmer and grey, the flash and
beat of quick hoofs--and they were gone. But the heart of Achilles sang
in his breast, and the day about him was full of light.

IX

BETTY LEAVES HER GODS

Little B