The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Her little white hand stole across the table. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. ‘I feared as much. Sebastian looked up and stood. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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