ance, and placed a quivering
morsel of jelly between her lips. "But you are so very strange to me.
Tell me, were you never in love?"

"That is a question I may not answer." He still smiled, but it was
merely the continuation of the smile he had worn before she shot that
last arrow. He still looked in her eyes, but she knew he was not
seeing her. Then he rallied and laughed. "Come, question for question.
Were you never in love--or out of love--let us say?"

"Oh! Me!" She lifted her shoulders delicately. "Me! I am in love
now--at this moment. You do not treat me well. You have not danced
with me once."

"No. You have been dancing always, and fully occupied. How could I?"

"Ah, you have not learned. To dance with me--you must take me, not
stand one side and wait."

"Are you engaged for the next?"

"But, yes. It is no matter. I will dance it with you. He will be
consoled." She laughed, showing her beautiful, even teeth. "I make you
a confession. I said to him, 'I will dance it with you unless the cold
monsieur asks me--then I will dance with him, for it will do him
good.'"

Robert Kater rose and stood a moment looking through the palms. The
silken folds of his toga fell gracefully around him, and he held his
head high. Then he withdrew his eyes from the distance and turned them
again on her,--the gold and white being at his feet,--and she seemed
to him no longer human, but a phantom from which he must flee, if but
he might do so courteously, for he knew her to be no phantom, and he
could not be other than courteous.

"Will you accept from me my laurel crown?" He took the chaplet from
his head and laid it at her feet. Then, lifting her hand to his lips,
he kissed the tips of her pink fingers, bowing low before her. "I go
to send you wine. Console your partner. It is better so, for I too am
in love." He smiled upon her as he had smiled at first, and was gone,
walking out through the crowd--the weird, fantastic, bizarre company,
as if he were no part of them. One and another greeted him as he
passed, but he did not seem to hear them. He called a waiter and
ordered wine to be taken to Mademoiselle Fee, and quickly was gone.
They saw him no more.

It was nearly morning. A drizzling rain was falling, and the air was
chill after the heat of the crowded ballroom. He drew it into his
lungs in deep draughts, glad to be out in the freshness, and to feel
the cool rain on his forehead. He threw off his encumbering toga and