CHAPTER XXII

BAD NEWS The music was entrancing--a dreamy waltz was being played. There was the odour of flowers. All about were presumably pretty women and girls--presumably, for their masks still hid their faces. Outside the moon shone, still bewitchingly. From behind the bank of palms, which stirred gently in the night air that swept in through the open windows, came the wailing of the oboe, the shriller crying of the violin, the tinkle of the piano, the bird-like notes of the flute, the mellow call of the French horn--all bl…