24 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



Since the days of Herodotus how many writers have 

 blunted their pens on the ancient and ever-new theme 

 of Constantinople ? And no one of them has brought 

 the Olympic panorama to the level of paper, painted 

 for us the true colour of its glittering turquoise waters, 

 ocean deep to the marge of the land, or shown a tenth 

 part of the beauty of this wonderful marine pathway, 

 stretching from sea to sea. 



We were one of a little fleet of ships, ships great and 

 small, for thirty-six hours. Just long enough to 

 negotiate our requests for further " Open Sesame " 

 letters which might help our faltering feet in Caucasian 

 wilds. 



Our neighbours from a near - by yacht came to 

 lunch, very up-to-date English people, a youthful 

 husband, and an elderly wife of the restored-ruin 

 variety. She wore the most immaculate yachting kit, 

 and a little sailor hat perched on a rather lop-sided 

 erection of carefully Marcelled tresses. 



" In these sort of places," she confided, " I never 

 let Claude out of my sight. Heaven knows what mis- 

 chief a man might not get into." 



With " Claude " safely bottled up in the saloon, our 

 new acquaintance, sitting on deck with Cecily and 

 me, waxed introspective. She said that beautiful 

 scenes and vistas have a great effect upon over- 

 charged hearts, a sort of " Bid me discourse " in- 

 fluence, I imagine, judging by results, though whether 

 the wondrous panorama was answerable for the 

 wholesale confidences of which we were the willy- 

 nilly recipients, or whether some rather sour claret 



