sion and the
image, the image and the maddening, leaping, all-satisfying,
softly-subsiding reality.

It was no wonder that he would not allow anything to disturb him in
that inner sanctuary of rare delight. His bodily nature, his
imagination, his deep knowledge and love of his own Hellenic poets, his
almost adoration of the beautiful, all that was his real self, placed
him far outside the pale that confines the world of common men as the
sheepfold pens in the flock.

It was late in the night when he rose from his seat at last,
extinguished the lights himself and left the room, with a regretful
look on his face; for, after his manner, he had been very happy in his
solitude, if indeed he had been alone where his treasure reigned.

He went downstairs, for the sanctuary was high up in the house, and he
found his man dozing in a chair in the vestibule at the door of his
dressing-room. The valet rose to his feet instantly, took a little
salver from the small table beside him, and held it out to Logotheti.

'A telegram, sir,' he said.

Logotheti carelessly tore the end off the blue cover and glanced at the
contents.

Can buy moon. Cable offer and limit.

Logotheti looked at his watch and made a short calculation which
convinced him that no time would really be lost in buying the moon if
he did not answer the telegram till the next morning. Then he went to
bed and read himself to sleep with Musurus' Greek translation of
Dante's _Inferno_.

CHAPTER IX

On the following day Margaret received a note from Schreiermeyer
informing her in the briefest terms and in doubtful French that he had
concluded the arrangements for her to make her _debut_ in the part of
Marguerite, in a Belgian city, in exactly a month, and requiring that
she should attend the next rehearsal of _Faust_ at the Opera in Paris,
where _Faust_ is almost a perpetual performance and yet seems to need
rehearsing from time to time.

She showed the letter to Mrs. Rushmore, who sighed wearily after
reading it, and said nothing. But there was a little more colour in
Margaret's cheek, and her eyes sparkled at the prospect of making a
beginning at last. Mrs. Rushmore took up her newspaper again with an
air of sorrowful disapproval, but presently she started uncomfortably
and looked at Margaret.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, and sighed once more.

'What is it?' asked the young girl.

'It must be true, for it's in the _Herald_.'

'What?'

Mrs. Rushmor