ly through the well-filled room, such a perfect sense of
rest pervaded her senses that a sudden desire to cry, just softly and
happily, came to her. Happy Margaret!

Neither of them cared to speak while they were dancing; they remained
as silent as they had done when they stood together in the vast stretch
of the great Sahara, but they were conscious--and happily so--of each
other's enjoyment. Could two young people be so close to each other,
two people so greatly in sympathy with one another, and not know
something of the thought in each other's minds?

"Will you let me take you in to supper?" was all that Michael said, at
the end of the last dance which they were to have together. He handed
her reluctantly over to her waiting partner as he spoke.

Meg nodded her assent and smiled radiantly over her partner's shoulder
as she whirled off.

Her beautiful white shoulders showed up the duskiness of her hair; her
head was distinguished and arrestive. As Michael was watching her and
waiting for her to come round the room again to where he was standing,
so that their eyes might meet, a gentle, caressing hand was laid on his
own and a voice said:

"Ah! now I know why you have not looked for me. Who is she?"

Michael started. The low, tender voice instantly thrilled every nerve
in his body, while at the same moment an overwhelming desire to slip
away and lose himself amongst the dancers came over him.

"She is a fine-looking creature," the voice went on, "but that type
gets coarse at forty, don't you think?"

Michael swung round quickly and faced the lovely woman who had spoken
to him. Her figure, in spite of its childish slimness, suggested not
youthful purity but a sensuous grace. In her soft, flesh-tinted gown
of chiffon, which left her arms and neck quite bare, a dress which
merely suggested a veiled covering for her tiny body, she was
temptingly feminine. To most men she would have been irresistible, for
she was as supple and straight as a child of thirteen.

Her eyes gazed familiarly into Michael's; they were inviting and
exquisitely lovely. Even Mrs. Mervill's bitterest enemies had to admit
the charm of her eyes. Hard and cruel they could be, just like the
uncut amethysts which in colour they resembled--eyes of a deep, bluish
purple. They had looked their cruellest a moment ago, for envy had
crossed her path. Every inch of her tiny person was envious of the
girl who had smiled over her partner's sh