When Half-gods Go, the Gods Arrive.
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“What a beautiful girl!” said Mr. Ambrose Drayton to himself; “and how much she looks like—” He cut the comparison short, and turned his eyes seaward, pulling at his mustache meditatively the while.
“This American atmosphere, fresh and pure as it is in the nostrils, is heavy-laden with reminiscences,” his thoughts ran on. “Reminiscences, but always with differences, the chief difference being, no doubt, in myself. And no wonder. Nineteen years; yes, it’s positively nineteen years since I stood here and gazed out through yonder gap between the headlands. Nineteen years of foreign lands, foreign men and manners, the courts, the camps, the schools; adventure, business, and pleasure—if I may lightly use so mysterious a word. Nineteen and twenty a
