And when Mr. Spokesly asked Evanthia if she would forget it all when she got to England she stood by the table, stricken to a sudden and mysterious immobility and regarded him with wide amber-coloured eyes. Then she lifted a finger to her lips.
There was a noise below. The iron gate banged. Evanthia, her finger to her lips, her eyes shining like stars, came to the window and leaned over. "Art thou come back?" she called in Greek. And the voice of the young Jew replied:
"Here I am, Madama. I am returned from the city."
"Any news of the Franks at Aidin?" she asked, smiling at Mr. Spokesly where he sat in silent admiration.
"They are here, Madama. Three, one of them the man you described to me, young and full of laughter."
"Aiee! A good servant thou art. I will keep thee always." She turned to her lover.
"Ah, yes!" she sighed. "A house like this in England. And I have forgot Saloniki now. Supper is ready, mein Lieber."
CHAPTER XVI
Years afterwards, when Mr. Spokesly, a cool and established person in authority in a far distant territory, would turn his thoughts back occasionally to the great period of his life, he would wonder how long it might have lasted had he not gone into the city that calm evening, had he never met that gay and irrepressible young man. There was no bitterness in his reflections. He saw, in that future time, how far removed from the firm shores of reality he and Evanthia were floating, his romantic exaltation supporting them both while she watched him with a suspicion of amazement in her eyes.