It was a different world. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. "I don't know what his idea was. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. Sir Rowland is one of us," he added, winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as from physical exertion. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. . . Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. This was what he missed. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet.
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