“Think, madam, what eloquent teachers are your eyes.”
“Indeed, they have pupils, sir. Oh, the heavenly pedagogues!”
“Their irises paint one the colour of hope. It is blue, I vow.”
“Like the rose that lives in man’s imagination. Oh, fie, Mr. Tuke! Here is an ardent philosopher of the desert! Tell me, does the house of shadows yield many mysteries? I am dying to hear all about it.”
“Then I will save you.”
“As you have once already.”
“It yields—yes; I think I can say it yields one at least.”
“Oh! oh! what is it about?”
“A Lake of Wine.”
Both talkers turned round with a start. Captain Luvaine had, it appeared, been seated solitary near them, and had dropped upon the ground a heavy book in which he had been reading.