God-like Bacchus with his flighty
Band of laughing jades,
Drank and sang and every night he
Got so classically tight he
Sought thy sylvan glades.
Snoring where he gaily reveled,
Tenedos, my Tenedos!
Mid his pretty nymphs disheveled
Sleeping off the over-dose,
Waking late to vinous woes!
Votive wine that long ago
Set thy sacred groves aglow,
Still exhilarates each nose
In Tenedos, my Tenedos!"
"Oh, the cunning little song!" I exclaimed enchanted. "But what is
Tenedos, anyway? It's an island, isn't it?"
"It is," said Thusis solemnly.
"Certainly. I remember. And so is Naxos--Greek islands in the AEgean."
"I shall mark you perfect," said Thusis gravely. And she wrote "perfect"
in the air with one slim forefinger.
"Why," said I curiously, "do you sing songs about Naxos and Tenedos?"
"Perhaps because I have lived in Naxos and Tenedos."
"I see."
"No, you don't," said Thusis, smiling.
We sat for a while in silence watching the foaming current swerving my
line. But no fish moved it.
"They must be pretty--those Greek islands," said I vaguely.
"Do you know their history?"
"No."
"Would you like to hear it?"
"Whatever you say I like to hear," I replied, beginning to ooze
sentiment as well as rain.
"You annoy me," said Thusis. "Listen sensibly, if you wish me to tell
you about those islands."
Snubbed, I sat silent with an injured expression that afforded her
lively satisfaction, judging from her vivacious voice and manner:
"You are to know, Michael," she began, "that Naxos is one of the
Cyclades, and from the day of the old gods it has been famous for its
wine.
"In the thirteenth century it was conquered by Venice. It was made into
a duchy. So was Tenedos.
"But these two Venetian Duchies were conquered and annexed by the
unspeakable Turk in the sixteenth century. Then Greece recovered
Naxos."
She looked down pensively at her folded hands. Presently they became
interlocked and I saw the fingers twisting nervously.
"There are," she said, "some people--descendants of the old Venetians in
Naxos, who believe that the island ought to belong to Italy ... and that
the duchy ought to be revived and reconstituted."
"Are you one of these people, Thusis?"
"Yes. I am descended from those Venetians. I was born in Naxos."
She remained absorbed in her own reflections for a few moments, then:
"Tenedos, also, ought to become a duchy again. The Turk rules it. He
calls it Bogdsha-Adassi. But it was allied with Greece before Christ
lived. It should be either Grecian or Italian.... And Clelia and I
believe that it rightly belongs to Italy."
"How big an island is it?"
"About seven miles long."
We both laughed.
"Are seven miles worth fighting for?" I asked, amused.
"One's back-yard is worth fighting for, isn't it?" she asked calmly.
"Of course. But not for the purpose of establishing a duchy in it."
Thusis didn't seem to consider that remark very funny.
"I'll freely give anything I have," she said hotly, "but I'll fight like
a wild-cat to resist the robbery of a single button!"
"I _didn't_ steal that button," said I. "I brought it back to you--from
Ferdie's dressing-room."
"I wish you wouldn't be so flippant, Michael!"
"Am I?"
"Very."
She really seemed vexed and I asked her pardon.
"But you oughtn't to mention theft to a thief," I added. "I'm trying to
steal your heart, you know----"
"Michael, you are insufferable!" she exclaimed with a movement of
impatience that almost sent us into the pool. In fact she clutched me
and held fast while I struggled to recover our balance. And after I had
reestablished our equilibrium I was low enough, mean enough, to pretend
we were still in danger, so heavenly sweet it was to me to feel her
little hands close clinging.
Whether or not she discovered my perfidy I was not certain, for
presently she released her grasp and sat very still and flushed beside
me, her eyes fixed on the frivolous brook.
Which drove me uneasily toward conversation--the first refuge of the
guilty.
"And so," said I, in a casual and pleasant voice, "you are really a
descendant of those ancient Venetians who once occupied Naxos."
"I don't wish to continue the subject," she said.
Snubbed again I relapsed into mournful inertia. Which presently she
inspected sideways. And after a while she laughed.
"You _are_ so ridiculous," she said. "No girl, I fancy, can remain
angry with you very long."
"Thusis?"
"What?"
"I want to court you. May I?"
"Yes--if you don't make it resemble the other thing."
"I'll be careful."
"Very well."
And, as I remained buried in reflection: "You may fire when ready,
Michael."
"Have you ever lived in the United States?" I asked, astonished.
"I was educated there," she replied demurely.
"Oh, Lord!" said I, "that accounts for a lot of things! Why on earth I
didn't suspect it I can't imagine----"
"Oh, I'm not typical; I'm international, Michael--cosmopolitan,
inter-urban, anti-insular, so to speak----"
"You're inter-stellar, you beautiful bright star!----"
"Michael!"
"What?"
"Is that courtship? Or the other?" she inquired.
"Courtship. It's a perfectly proper flight of astronomical fancy. It's
a scientific metaphor, Thusis dear. I'll tell you another:
"Some lovers woo the Pleiades
Who shyly flirt from midnight skies,
But all my vows and all my sighs
Are centered in the Cyclades
Where she I love first saw the light
--Thusis divine so slim and white--"
"Michael!"
"I love her noble mind serene,
I love her ruddy tresses bright,
I love her slender neck so white,
I love her heart so young and clean,
In fact I love her, if she please,
My goddess of the Cyclades--"
"_Michael!!!_"
"What?" said I, annoyed at being checked in my fine frenzy.
"Is--is _that_ courtship?"
"Certainly! Did you never hear of a troubadour? I'm improvising and for
God's sake don't interrupt me."
At that she relapsed into meek silence. But I had lost my momentum. It
was all off; she had ruined that totally unexpected burst of inspired
fluency which had astonished and intoxicated me, whatever it had done to
her.
"Damnation," I said.
"Forgive me, Michael. I'm so truly repentant.... And it was very, very
beautiful."
"It wasn't so bad," I admitted, mollified. "I had no idea I could do
it, Thusis."
"It was--agreeable. I liked it. Will you forgive me? Because when I
interrupted I punished myself most of all."
"You sweet little thing!----"
"I did. I was worse than Psyche," she went on, "who blew out the
candle--too late--the torch of inspiration--Oh, dear, that metaphor is
very sadly mixed, Michael, but you understand what I mean. Do you pardon
me?"
To reassure her I touched her hands which lay clasped in her lap. She
gave a slight start, but as my hand settled and rested there upon both
of hers she seemed to become unconscious of the contact.
"I had no idea that you could improvise so cleverly," she said.
"Nor I," said I, frankly. "It's true, however, that I've had some
little practice in writing verses--er--recently."
"Have you been writing verses, Michael?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
"About you."
She became interested in my fishing line, and watched it intently. But
it was only the current moving it.
"Thusis dear----"
She said hastily: "Remember the difference between courtship and the
other!"
"Won't you let me make love to you?"
"I can't, Michael!"