n felt it in
the rising fever of his veins--as maddeningly attractive.

They reached the bungalow. She went up the steps to the rose-twined
veranda as though she floated on wings of gossamer. "The roses are all
asleep, Billikins," she said. "They look like alabaster, don't they?"

She caught a cluster to her and held it against her cheek for a moment.

Merryon was close behind her. She seemed to realize his nearness quite
suddenly, for she let the flowers go abruptly and flitted on.

He followed her till, at the farther end of the veranda, she turned and
faced him. "Good-night, Billikins," she said, lightly.

"What about that dancing-lesson?" he said.

She threw up her arms above her head with a curious gesture. They
gleamed transparently white in the starlight. Her eyes shone like
fire-flies.

"I thought you preferred dancing by yourself," she retorted.

"Why?" he said.

She laughed a soft, provocative laugh, and suddenly, without any
warning, the cloak had fallen from her shoulders and she was dancing.
There in the starlight, white-robed and wonderful, she danced as, it
seemed to the man's fascinated senses, no human had ever danced before.
She was like a white flame--a darting, fiery essence, soundless,
all-absorbing, all-entrancing.

He watched her with pent breath, bound by the magic of her, caught, as
it were, into the innermost circle of her being, burning in answer to
her fire, yet so curiously enthralled as to be scarcely aware of the
ever-mounting, ever-spreading heat. She was like a mocking spirit, a
will-o'-the-wisp, luring him, luring him--whither?

The dance quickened, became a passionate whirl, so that suddenly he
seemed to see a bright-winged insect caught in an endless web and
battling for freedom. He almost saw the silvery strands of that web
floating like gossamer in the starlight.

And then, with well-nigh miraculous suddenness, the struggle was over
and the insect had darted free. He saw her flash away, and found the
veranda empty.

Her cloak lay at his feet. He stooped with an odd sense of giddiness and
picked it up. A fragrance of roses came to him with the touch of it, and
for an instant he caught it up to his face. The sweetness seemed to
intoxicate him.

There came a light, inconsequent laugh; sharply he turned. She had
opened the window of his smoking-den and was standing in the entrance
with impudent merriment in her eyes. There was triumph also in her
pose--a triumph that s