"Here's to you, my dear, good as you are!"
"What are you staring at, Jones?" I asked, angrily, turning sharply toward the butler. He continued his task of serving the course without noticing my reproof. My wife and guests were gazing at me in surprise.
"A toast! A toast!" cried little Van Tromp, almost hysterically.
Edgerton laughed aloud. "Let us drink to the mysterious East," he suggested, like one who bore an olive branch in his hand.
"To the secrets of the Orient and Yamama!" amended Caroline, showing my teeth to me in a cruel smile.
"Yamama! Yamama!" murmured my guests.
As we sipped our wine, I glanced at Jones. There was a flush on his phlegmatic face, but he appeared to be paying no attention to anything but his duties.
CHAPTER XII.
YAMAMA AND RELEASE.
Then dimness passed upon me, and that song
Was sounding o'er me when I woke
To be a pilgrim on the nether earth.
--Dean Alford.