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eloquent giving-of-herself in its precious shell, till he en-
closed it, till it no longer existed outside him. He tried to
collect all that might attract her—it was less than it had been
four years ago. Eighteen might look at thirty-four through a
rising mist of adolescence; but twenty-two would see thirty-
eight with discerning clarity. Moreover, Dick had been at an
emotional peak at the time of the previous encounter; since
then there had been a lesion of enthusiasm.
When the valet returned he put on a white shirt and
collar and a black tie with a pearl; the cords of his read-
ing-glasses passed through another pearl of the same size
that swung a casual inch below. After sleep, his face had re-
sumed the ruddy brown of many Riviera summers, and to
limber himself up he stood on his hands on a chair until his
fountain pen and coins fell out. At three he called Rosemary
and was bidden to come up. Momentarily dizzy from his ac-
robatics, he stopped in the bar for a gin-and-tonic.
‘Hi, Doctor Diver!’
Only because of Rosemary’s presence in the hotel did
Dick place the man immediately as Collis Clay. He had
his old confidence and an air of prosperity and big sudden
jowls.
‘Do you know Rosemary’s here?’ Collis asked.
‘I ran into her.’
‘I was in Florence and I heard she was here so I came
down last week. You’d never know Mama’s little girl.’ He
modified the remark, ‘I mean she was so carefully brought
up and now she’s a woman of the world—if you know what
I mean. Believe me, has she got some of these Roman boys

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