heard this conversation made up their minds
to get Margaritis for their parties, for they scented the fact that he
would ultimately be talked about. But most of the people did not discuss
the music at all.

As soon as the music had stopped, James Reddaway, who was a Member of
Parliament, left the house and went home. He was engrossed in politics,
and had little time at his disposal for anything else. As soon as he got
home he went up to his wife's bedroom; she had not been able to go to
the party owing to a sudden attack of neuralgia. She asked him to tell
her all about it.

"Well," he said, "there were the usual people there, and there was some
music: some violin and piano playing, to which I didn't listen. After
that a man sang some Greek songs, and a curious thing happened to me.
When it began I felt my head swimming, and then I entirely lost account
of my surroundings. I forgot the party, the drawing-room and the people,
and I seemed to be sitting on the rocks of a cliff near a small bay; in
front of me was the sea: it was a kind of blue green, but far more blue
or at least of quite a different kind of blue than any I have seen. It
was transparent, and the sky above it was like a turquoise. Behind
me the cliff merged into a hill which was covered with red and white
flowers, as bright as a Persian carpet. On the beach in front, a tall
man was standing, wading in the water, little bright waves sparkling
round his feet. He was tall and dark, and he was spearing a lot of
little silver fish which were lying on the sand with a small wooden
trident; and somewhere behind me a voice was singing. I could not see
where it came from, but it was wonderfully soft and delicious, and a
lot of wild bees came swarming over the flowers, and a green lizard came
right up close to me, and the air was burning hot, and there was a
smell of thyme and mint in it. And then the song stopped, and I came
to myself, and I was back again in the drawing-room. Then when the man
began to sing again, I again lost consciousness, and I seemed to be in
a dark orchard on a breathless summer night. And somewhere near me there
was a low white house with an opening which might have been a window,
shrouded by creepers and growing things. And in it there was a faint
light. And from the house came the sound of a sad love-song; and
although I had never heard the song before I understood it, and it was
about the moon and the Pleiads having set, and the hour pass