As for the girl herself, she resembled the tenth muse. Brown had never attempted to visualise his mistress; it had been enough for him that she was Thalomene, daughter of Zeus, and divinely fair.
But now, as he recognised the face he had noticed that evening in the dining-room, somehow he thought of his muse for the first time, concretely. Perhaps because the girl by the coquina wall was young, slim, golden haired, and Greek.
His impulse, without bothering to reason, was to hop from the wall and go over to where she was standing.
She looked around calmly as he approached, gave him a little nod in recognition of his lifted hat.
"I'm John Brown, 4th," he said. "I'm stopping at the Villa Hibiscus. Do you mind my saying so?"
"No, I don't mind," she said.
"There is a vast amount of nonsense in formality and convention," said Brown. "If you don't mind ignoring such details, I have something important to say to you."
She looked at him unsmilingly. Probably it[124] was the starlight in her eyes that made them glimmer as though with hidden laughter.
"I am," said Brown, pleasantly, "an author."
"Really," she said.