lofty, which
is the artist's second life. The odds were heavy indeed. No wonder
that the select few who spoke of her that afternoon should shake their
heads and look grave.

CHAPTER III

"THE DANCING GIRL"

"What do you think of it?"

Paul started. He had been standing, like a man in a dream, with
folded arms, looking across the room with idle eyes, and unconsciously
ignoring many salutations. His brother's tone sounded oddly in his
ears, and he looked flushed and a little nervous.

"What did I think of it!" It was a difficult question to answer. He
repeated it, and was glad when Arthur spared him the necessity of
replying, by adding his own opinion.

"It was glorious, magnificent! I'm going to find out more about her!"

He strolled away, and joined one of the little groups of men who were
discussing the performance. Paul, at first, had made a gesture as
though to detain him, but on second thoughts he had changed his mind.
Better let him go and find out what he could.

He himself watched carefully for his opportunity, and then left the
room. He felt like a man who has received a silent shock. Something
fresh had come into his life, noiselessly, insidiously, without
effort. He pressed on his hat, and passed down the steps out into the
street, scarcely conscious of what he was doing.

The rush of fresh air somewhat revived him, and he stood still for a
moment to collect his thoughts. He felt the need of absolute
solitude for a while, to help him to realize--or at any rate to
understand--this thing which had happened, and with almost feverish
haste he called a hansom from the other side of the road. The man
whipped up the horse, but hesitated as he reached the pavement.
Looking around, Paul saw the cause of his indecision. A woman,
standing only a few yards behind, had called him at the same time, and
was waiting also for his approach.

There was a gas-lamp between them, and as their eyes met, he
recognised her. Even in that flickering light, and through her
veil, there was no mistaking those wonderful eyes. As a rule, he was
possessed of as much _savoir faire_ as most men of his class, but at
that moment it had deserted him. He stood there on the edge of the
pavement, without moving or saying anything, simply looking at
her, startled at her sudden appearance, and magnetised by her close
presence. He had heard no footfall behind him, and the fact of her
being alone seemed so strange to him, that he si