Christian threw back his head, and drew the salty air deep into his lungs. “I wonder what little Letitia is doing,” he said. “I think of the child myself at times. She shouldn’t be left entirely to that old schemer,” Crammon replied. Her kiss no longer burned on Christian’s lips, for other flames had touched them since. Like laughing _putti_ in a painting, the lovely faces fluttered about him. Many of them, to be sure, were laughing now no more. In a dark gown, emerging from between two white columns, Eva had taken leave of him. He seemed to see her still--the brunette pallor of her face, her inexpressibly slender hand, the most eloquent hand in the world. Jestingly and familiarly she had spoken to him in the language of her German homeland, which seemed more piercingly sweet and melodious in her mouth than in any other’s. “Where are you going, Eidolon?” she had asked carelessly. He had answered with a gesture of uncertainty. He evidently thought that his going or coming was indifferent to her. “It isn’t nice of you to go without asking leave,” she said, and put her hands on his shoulders. “But perhaps it is just as well. You confuse me. I am beginning to think of you, and I don’t want to do that.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t. Why do you need reasons?” The dead and swollen face of Denis Lay rose up before them, and they both saw it in the empty air. After a little he had dared to ask: “When shall we meet again?” “It depends on you,” she had answered. “Always let me know where you are, so that I can send for you. Of course, it’s nonsense, and I won’t. But it might just happen that in some whim I may want you and none other. Only you must learn----” She stopped and smiled. “What, what must I learn?” “Ask your friend Crammon. He’ll teach you.” After these words she had left him. The sea roared like a herd of steers. Christian stopped and turned to Crammon. “Listen, Bernard, there’s a matter that comes back curiously into my mind. When I last talked to Eva she said there was something I was to learn before I could see her again. And when I asked after her meaning, she said that you could give me a hint. What is it? What am I to learn?” Crammon answered seriously: “You see, my boy, these things are rather complicated. Some people like their steak overdone, others almost raw, most people medium. Well, if you don’t know a certain person’s taste and serve the steak the way you yourself prefer it, you risk making a blunder and looking like a fool. People are far from simple.” “I don’t understand you, Bernard.” “Doesn’t matter a bit, old chap! Don’t bother your handsome head about it. Let’s go on. This damned country makes me melancholy.” They went on. But there was an unknown sadness in Christian’s heart. AN OWL ON EVERY POST I Letitia felt vague longings.