There was no desolation in his search; it was only a searching and a waiting, and where-ever the scarf floated, there was his land--his home. ‘I am the Knight of the Immaterial,’ he said to someone who detained him; ‘I follow a thought.’ He began to buy trinkets such as women wear. His luggage took on new shapes. It had corners dedicated to strange bits of regally embroidered fabrics; to rings old and wonderful; to strings of delicious yellow pearls, numerous and small as sands of the shore, gathered on a string. At Naples he thought to find her. At Castallamarie he looked for her in the orange garden. At Amalfi he expected to see her leaning on the wall to scan the blue waters. In the reading-room at Athens he sat looking over the American papers. People were going in and out; some were reading, as if at their own club or at home. Fussy folks turned over all the papers, looking for something which wasn’t, and never would be, there. Men exchanged greetings and news in after-dinner leisure. At Rob’s side sat Drayton, our American Charge d’Affaires. He had an appointment later at a reception, and had come in to escort a party of people who had especial claims on his attention. Suddenly Rob leaned over, and said to him: ‘Who is that lady standing there at the end of the table with her fur cloak thrown back--the beautiful one standing by the old man--that Russian, with all those decorations or orders?’ ‘That? why, that is Madame Dembevetskoi, the most beautiful woman in Athens. If she _is_ a Russian, it is a tie between her and the Venus de Milo.’ ‘I want to know her.’ ‘That is all right--Americans have every privilege; I will introduce you to her to-morrow.’ ‘No, now; I must meet her now.’ ‘Great Scott! that is too American; you ask too much.’ ‘I ask just enough, and you will accede to my request.’ The two men looked at each other, then our functionary walked away with his diplomatic courtesy a little ruffled. A moment later he was introducing to Monsieur Dembevetskoi, ‘My friend, Monsieur Robert Dudley.’ In turn, Robert was presented to Madame. The diplomat, once in action, never flinched fire, and he now engaged the Russian in an absorbing conversation, while Madame Dembevetskoi, holding with one hand her gray fur wrap, which was slipping from her, stretched out her other hand, and said, breathlessly: ‘Oh, Monsieur Dudley, please give me back my scarf!’ [Illustration] PRINTED FOR WAY AND WILLIAMS BY R. R. DONNELLEY AND SONS CO AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO FROM PLATES MADE BY THE DIAL PRESS: MDCCCXCV Transcriber’s Note: Variations in hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original publication. Punctuation has been standardised. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Room and Other Stories, by Madelene Yale Wynne