He carried his burden to her rooms, which faced the columns of Jupiter, gallantly kissed her tiny hand, and turned with a soft smile in his eyes as he walked to the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne.
“I will certainly make a journey to America to see that charming little lady,” he said to himself, and while he sat in his room waiting for the short blue twilight, he took out of his breast pocket the only remembrance of Inarime he possessed—the unfinished verses he had found some months ago at the Austrian Embassy.
Everything on the Acropolis had been photographed from every possible point of view, and nearly everything in the museums, and on the day they had arranged to start for Sunium, Miss Winters met Reineke with a portentous air.
“Mr. Reineke, I have heard from that old man, and, indeed, he is not worth much. He is just an old heathen.”
Gustav laughed, touched by the irresistible humour of hearing Miss Winters, herself more than half a pagan, abuse any one on the ground of heathenism.
“What are you laughing at, sir?” she asked, frowning.
“Oh, I was not quite prepared to hear you turn upon the heathens, I thought you were in such thorough sympathy with them.”
“With the ancient heathens, if you please,” corrected Miss Winters. “That is very different from modern heathenism. The ancients were respectable, upright and religious men, fearing the gods and respecting the laws of nature. But your Selaka! He has all the vices of the Christian, without any of the virtues of the pagan.”
“Selaka! What of him?” cried Gustav, opening his eyes.
“Did I not tell you? I have heard from him.”