“Instead, this constant, interspersed with fitful sputterings, that send the flame so high, lower zones do gaze upon it.” Closing a phosphor color enfolds us, then rises above. Notes in the waves—trumpet notes, conducted toward us till they sound all about us. A mist-like spray is rising around. Looking out I am startled to see a large company of people standing on the water in the center of the river playing lily-tube trumpets as in graceful ease they dance a stately minuet. Raising aloft their tubes they spray the air with perfumed drops, which, catching the rays of the sun through the ice-cleft, a glorious rainbow arch settles above as we draw to shore and alight upon a wharf of lily pads. The sun passes on ahead having kept such even pace with us all day that it had appeared to be standing still in the sky. The heat had called for our light dress. To-morrow it will be in lower horizon. We have arrived in a city that is like the people, tall and pointing high—a city of slim, needle-like towers. Passing toward a mansion I turn to tell Show Off to pattern after the young man with the river dancers, looking so like him who was gay, when lo! he is not with us. “It was Show Off himself, Auntie, I saw him put on the funny boat-shoes and drop overboard.” “Who is the young lady he was bending over,” I inquire. “I do not know, some more complications I expect,” inimicably. “Saucy,” I say comically, “he is not for you.” “I know it,” sighing, “I will never have him to carry me around on his shoulder.” What are Savant and Roba doing ahead, walking up the outside of a tower residence? Truly they are, and our turn come we see plenty of steps and walk up too. Arrived at the second story we enter a low gate into a circular room the size of the tower. Around the outside is a row of seats which we proceed to occupy. In front of us are promenading round and round the river dancers, buoyant in youth. From these Show Off leads a lustrous river maid and presents as betrothed to his family, who can but smile upon them, except Robet who gets quite pale. Whispering to her, “Cheer up, Auntie, love is might,” he draws her to her feet and waltzes her around until she is hopeful again. We all get up and dance in honor of the betrothal. When we sit again the others wait upon us from the center of the room, which is a mass of flowers, fruit and pastry. The dance starting on, Robet says to me, “Let’s go out.” “All right.” She touches a button and we elevate to the top of the tower. A branch of clove-scented vine brushes my cheek. Seeing me peer down Robet hands me a glass to see into the shade of the tropical park beneath. Seeing me occupied she bends down her head in meditation. Then sighs and sighs to herself, bravely struggling with these breakers in her love stream.