"One moment," Carlo stopped her. "There's too much light. We can't do
with all this light. Mr. Machin--do you mind?"
A wave of the hand and all the lights were extinguished, save a lamp
on the mantelpiece, and in the disconcertingly darkened room Rose
Euclid turned her face towards the ray from this solitary silk-shaded
globe.
Her hand groped out behind her, found the table-cloth and began to
scratch it agitatedly. She lifted her head. She was the actress,
impressive and subjugating, and Edward Henry felt her power. Then she
intoned:
"Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye."
And she ceased and sat down. There was a silence.
"_Bra_ vo!" murmured Carlo Trent.
"Bra_vo_!" murmured Mr. Marrier.
Edward Henry in the gloom caught Mr. Seven Sachs's unalterable
observant smile across the table.
"Well, Mr. Machin?" said Carlo Trent.
Edward Henry had felt a tremor at the vibrations of Rose Euclid's
voice. But the words she uttered had set up no clear image in his
mind, unless it might be of some solid body falling from the air, or
of a young woman named Helen, walking along Trafalgar Road, Bursley,
on a dusty day, and getting the dust in her eyes. He knew not what to
answer.
"Is that all there is of it?" he asked at length.
Carlo Trent said:
"It's from Thomas Nashe's 'Song in Time of Pestilence.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129