bewitching face of Lady Hamilton as it shone back at him from the prints
of John Jones, of Cheesman, of Henry Meyer. Was not Corinna's place
among those vanished beauties of a richer age, rather than among the
sour-faced reformers and the Gideon Vetches of to-day? The wonderful
tone of the old prints, the silvery dusk, or the softly glowing colours
that were like the sunset of another century; the warmth and splendour
of the few brocades she had picked up in Italy; the suave religious
feeling of the worn red velvet from some church in Florence; the candles
in wrought-iron sconces, the shimmering firelight and the dreamy
fragrance of tea roses--all these things together made him think
suddenly of sunshine over the Campagna and English gardens in the month
of May and the burning reds and blues and golden greens of the Middle
Ages. Corinna with her unfading youth became a part of all the
loveliness that he had ever seen--of all beauty everywhere.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you," she said, "that I am going to meet
the Governor."

"Where? At the Berkeleys'?"

"Yes, at the Berkeleys' dinner on Thursday. Are you going?"

He laughed. "Mrs. Berkeley called me up this morning and asked me if I
would take somebody's place. She didn't say whose place it was, but she
did divulge the fact that the dinner is given to Vetch. I told her I'd
come--that I was so used to taking other people's places I could fill
six at the same time. But a dinner to Vetch! I wonder why she is doing
it?"

"That's easy. Mr. Berkeley wants something from the Governor. I don't