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Steyle poor, sentimental Clarence, who melted with sighs if she but glanced at him; and then, Clarence was too stout. She adored slender men, believing that when fat came in at the door love fled out of the window. "They put me in a circus at Buda-Pesth," remarked Aŕpad Vihary, as if he were making a commonplace statement about the weather.
"Don't try that again, man," she protested. He answered her in gibberish. "Mees, Mees Lora," he repeated. "Ach!" she exclaimed. Aŕpad Vihary gloomily followed her into the dining-room, where Lora stood trembling.
And the crazy music defiled by in a struggling squad of chords; but Aŕpad Vihary never lifted his eyes from Lora Crowne.... The vibration ceased. Its withdrawal left the ear-drums buzzing with a minute, painful sensation, like that of moisture rapidly evaporating upon the naked skin. A battalion of tongues began to chatter as the red-faced waiters rushed between the tables, taking orders.
He seemed like a clumsy circus hero as he scraped his feet over the parquetry and attempted to kiss her hand. She drew away instantly and pointed to a chair. He refused to sit down; his pride seemed hurt. Then he gave the girl an intense look, and she drew nearer. "Oh, Aŕpad Vihary," she began. He interrupted. "You do not love me now. Why? You told me you loved me, in the park, yesterday.
The sun, a thin scarf of light, was eclipsed by earnest clouds; the curving thunder closed over the battle; the air was flame-sprinkled and enlaced by music; and most melancholy were the eyes of the defeated Pan the melancholy eyes of Aŕpad Vihary.... Aunt Lucas was scandalized.
Aŕpad Vihary leaned against the panelled wall, his brow puckered in boredom, his long black mustaches drooping from sheer discouragement. His was a figure for sculpture a frame powerfully modelled, a bisque complexion.
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