of the assembled company following her with a little look of curiosity and dawning hope. VIII AND GIVE A SIMPLE LECTURE In the doorway below she paused a moment, a little startled at the scene. The bowed heads, the bit of folded tissue, the laughing, eager tones, the look in Miss Stone’s face held her. She swept aside the drapery and entered--the stately lady of the house. The bowed heads were lifted. The child sprang to her feet. “Mother-dear! It is my friend! He has come!” The words sang. Mrs. Philip Harris held out a gracious hand. She had not intended to offer her hand. She had intended to be distant and kind. But when the man looked up she somehow forgot. She held out the hand with a quick smile. The Greek was on his feet, bending above it. “It is an honour, madame--that you come.” “I have come to ask a favour,” she replied, slowly, her eyes travelling over the well-brushed clothes, the clean linen, the slender feet of the man. Favour was not what she had meant to say--privilege was nearer it. But there was something about him. Her voice grew suave to match the words. “My daughter has told me of you--” Her hand rested lightly on the child’s curls--a safe, unrumpled touch. “Her visit to you has enchanted her. She speaks of it every day, of the Parthenon and what you told her.” The eyes of the man and the child met gravely. “I wondered whether you would be willing to tell some friends of mine--here--now--” He had turned to her--a swift look. She replied with a smile. “Nothing formal--just simple things, such as you told the child. We should be very grateful to you,” she added, as if she were a little surprised at herself. He looked at her with clear eyes. “I speak--yes--I like always--to speak of my country. I thank you.” The child, standing by with eager feet, moved lightly. Her hands danced in softest pats. “You will tell them about it--just as you told me--and they will love it!” “I tell them--yes!” “Come, Miss Stone.” The child held out her hand with a little gesture of pride and loving. “We must go now. Good-bye, Mr. Achilles. You will come again, please.” “I come,” said Achilles, simply. He watched the quaint figure pass down the long rooms beside the shimmering grey dress, through an arched doorway at the end, and out of sight. Then he turned to his hostess with the quick smile of his race. “She is beautiful, madame,” he said, slowly. “She is a child!” 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.”