Description

The freakish small chief of the band, recently imported from Sicilyto Ny, threw his conductor's wand impatiently through the atmosphere,sinking with audio thunders the sound of talk and the clatterof plates.Yet neither his apish attitude or the noisy sounds that respondedto every motion of his nimble body detracted attention from the figureof Reginald Clarke and the child at his side because they smilingly woundtheir method to the exit.The child's appearance was enjoyable, with an inkling of wistfulness, whilethe gentle shine of his articulate eyes betrayed the poet and the dreamer.The smile of Reginald Clarke was the smile of a conqueror. A suspicionof gold in his top of black hair just additional pride to his showing,as the much ramified outlines above the heavy set mouth talked atonce of subtlety and of power. Without stretch of the imagination onemight have compared him to a Roman cardinal of the occasions of the Borgias,who'd amazingly walked forth from the full time-stained fabric andslipped into twentieth-century night-clothes.With the affability of total self-control he nodded in reply togreetings from all edges, inclining his mind with unique politeness toa small woman whose ocean-blue eyes were riveted upon his functions with alook of mingled hate and admiration.The woman, neglecting his quiet salutation, continued to focus at himwild-eyed, like a damned soul in purgatory may appear at Satan moving inregal beauty through the seventy times sevenfold groups of hell.Reginald Clarke strolled on unconcernedly through the lines of homosexual diners,however cheerful, affable, relaxed. But his friend bethought herself ofcertain rumours he'd seen concerning Ethel Brandenbourgis angry lovefor the person from whose functions she couldn't nonetheless change her eyes.Evidently her enthusiasm was unreciprocated.