, I will get this paint off my face!"

Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. But
Nur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara saw
the hunted look she had already observed in her that evening
creeping over her face again.

"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, ma
petite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! For
the past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often I
think I will settle down, but the life holds me!"

She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silver
box.

"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "This
little box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for many
years. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe for
anybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe home
with your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you take
this little box and keep it safely for me until... until... the
war is over... until I ask you for it?"

"Yes, of course," said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, what
with these air raids, I don't know that London is particularly
safe, either."

"Ah! that is good of you," cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the little
box is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up and
seal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"

She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contents
produced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. She
wrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the seals
with a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handed
the package to Barbara.

There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arranging
Madame's dresses in the corner opened it.

"You will take care of it well for me," the dancer said to
Barbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "you
will guard it preciously until I come for it..." She laughed and
added carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a life
mascotte of mine, hein?"

Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside.

Nur-el-Din started.

"Le Captaine is there, Madame," said the French maid, "'e say
Monsieur Mackwayte ask for Mademoiselle!"

The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silken
kimono.

"Au revoir, ma petite," she said, "we shall meet again. You will
come and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybody
about..." she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little package
was reposing,