He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. He rested on one elbow. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. As this gentleman was going away, he said to Jack in a jesting manner, 'that he should be glad to see him to-night at supper. " "Where?" "At Yale. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively.
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