insignificance beside the lurid rites of Mr. Malcourt and Mr.
Hamil--under the yellow rose! Proceed, my fearsome adept, and perform
the occult deed!"

Hamil descended the terrace to the new garden, hung the key to a brier
under the fragrant mass of flowers, and glanced up at Shiela, who, arms
on the balustrade above him, was looking down at the proceedings.

"Is the dread deed done?" she whispered.

"If you don't believe it come down and see."

"I? Come down? At _two_ in the morning?"

"It's half-past two."

"Oh," she said, "if it's half-past two I might think of coming down for
a moment--to look at my roses.... Thank you, Mr. Hamil, I can see my way
very clearly. I can usually see my own way clearly--without the aid of
your too readily offered hand.... Did you ever dream of such an
exquisitely hot night! That means rain, doesn't it?--with so many
fragrances mingling? The odour of lilies predominates, and I think some
jasmine is in the inland wind, but my roses are very sweet if you only
bend down to them. A rose is always worth stooping for."

She leaned over the yellow blossoms, slender, spirit-white in the
starlight, and brushed her fresh young face with the silken petals.

"So sweet," she said; "lean down and worship my young roses, you
unappreciative man!"

For a few minutes she strolled along the paths of the new garden he had
built, bending capriciously here and there to savour some perfect
blossom. The night was growing warmer; the sea breeze had died out, and
a hot wind blew languidly from the west.

"You know," she said, looking back at him over her shoulder, "I don't
want to go to bed."

"Neither do I, and I'm not going."

"But I'm going.... I wonder why I don't want to? Listen! Once--after I
was a protoplasm and a micro-organism, and a mollusc, and other things,
I probably was a predatory animal--nice and sleek with velvet feet and
shining incandescent eyes--and very, very predatory.... That's doubtless
why I often feel so deliciously awake at night--with a tameless longing
to prowl under the moon.... And I think I'd better go in, now."

"Nonsense," he said, "I'm not going to bed yet."

"Oh! And what difference might that make to me? You are horridly
conceited; do you know it?"

"Please stay, Calypso. It's too hot to sleep."

"No; star-prowling is contrary to civilized custom."

"But every soul in the house is sound asleep--"

"I should hope so! And you and I have no business to be out