KAI LUNG'S GOLDEN HOURS
Two of these were Shen Yi and a trusted slave; at the sight of the third Chang Tao's face grew very red and the deficiencies of his various attributes began to fill his mind with dark forebodings, for this was Melodious Vision and no man could look upon her without her splendour engulfing his imagination. No record of her pearly beauty is preserved beyond a scattered phrase or two; for the poets and minstrels of the age all burned what they had written, in despair at the inadequacy of words. Yet it remains that whatever a man looked for, that he found, and the measure of his requirement was not stinted.
"Greeting," said Shen Yi, with easy-going courtesy. He was a more meagre man than Chang Tao had expected, his face not subtle, and his manner restrained rather than oppressive. "You have come on a long and winding path; have you taken your rice?"
"Nothing remains lacking," replied Chang Tao, his eyes again elsewhere. "Command your slave, Excellence."
"In what particular direction do your agreeable powers of leisure-beguiling extend?"
So far Chang Tao had left the full consideration of this inevitable detail to the inspiration of the moment, but when the moment came the prompting spirits did not disclose themselves. His hesitation became more involved under the expression of gathering enlightenment that began to appear in Melodious Vision's eyes.
"An indifferent store of badly sung ballads," he was constrained to reply at length, "and—perchance—a threadbare assortment of involved questions and replies."
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