He had taught some of them how to fence, and he could not remember the times he had been "buttoned" while paying too much attention to their lips and eyes.

For Maurice loved a thing of beauty, were it a woman, a horse or a Mediterranean sunset.

What a difference between these two years in Vienna and that year in Calcutta! He never would forget the dingy office, with its tarnished sign, "U.

S.
Consul," tacked insecurely on the door, and the utter loneliness.
He cast a pebble into the lake, and watched the ripples roll away and disappear, and ruminated on a life full of color and vicissitude.

He remembered the Arizona days, the endless burning sand, the dull routine of a cavalry trooper, the lithe brown bodies of the Apaches, the first skirmish and the last.