The mother assented, absently. She was not thinking of the child, but of
the fifty members of the Halcyon Club in the library. "Will you come?"
she said. "My friends are waiting."

He spread his hands in quick assent. "I come--as you like. I give
pleasure--to come."

She smiled a little. "Yes, you give pleasure." She was somehow at ease
about the man. He was poor--illiterate, perhaps, but not uncouth.
She glanced at him with a little look of approval as they went up the
staircase. It came to her suddenly that he harmonised with it, and
with all the beautiful things about them. The figure of Professor Trent
flashed upon her--short and fat and puffing, and yearning toward the top
of the stair. But this man. There was the grand air about him--and yet
so simple.

It was almost with a sense of eclat that she ushered him into the
library. The air stirred subtly, with a little hush. The president
was on her feet, introducing Mr. Achilles Alexandrakis, who, in the
unavoidable absence of Professor Trent, had kindly consented to speak to
them on the traditions and customs of modern Greek life.

Achilles's eyes fell gently on the lifted faces. "I like to tell you
about my home," he said, simply. "I tell you all I can."

The look of strain in the faces relaxed. It was going to be an easy
lecture--one that you could know something about. They settled to soft
attention and approval.