this generous nature
surrounding her and working in her own blood. All the primitive
instinct of her womanhood called aloud in her that she must wed--must
wed. And the strident voice of the great, painted city coming up to
her, urgent, incessant, carried the same message, as did the radiant
sea, whose white lips kissed the indented coast-line as though pale and
hungry with love. While the man before her, by his very abnormality and
a certain secretness inevitable in that, heightened her passion. He was
to her of all living men most desirable, so that she must win him and
hold him, must see and know.

In a few steps, light as those of the little, rose-crowned dancer of
long ago, she followed him across the shining floor. There was a point
of north in the wind, adding exhilaration to the firm sunshine as ice
to rare wine. The scent of narcissus, magnolia, and lemon blossom was
everywhere. The cypresses yielded an aromatic, myrrh-like sweetness.
The uprising waters of the fountain, set in the central alley, swerved
southward, falling in a jeweled rain. Helen, in her spotless raiment,
came close and Richard Calmady turned to her. But his eyes no longer
questioned hers. They were as windows opening back on to empty space,
seeing all, yet telling nothing. His face had become still again and
inscrutable, lightened only by that flickering, mocking smile. It
seemed as though the psychological moment were passed and social sense,
ordinary fashions of civilised intercourse, had not only come back but
come to stay.

"I think we will omit Destournelle from our talk in future," he said.
"As a subject of conversation I find he disagrees with me,
notwithstanding his felicity of style and his admirable technique. I
will give orders which, I hope, may help to protect you from annoyance
in future. In this delightful land, by wise exercise of just a little
bribery and corruption, it is still possible to make the unwelcome
alien prefer to seek health and entertainment elsewhere. Now, will you
like to go back to the house?"

The approach to the pavilion from the lower level of the garden was by
a carefully graded slope of Roman brick, set edgewise. At regular
intervals of about eighteen inches this was crossed--on the principle
of a gang-plank--by raised marble treads. Without waiting for his
cousin's reply, Richard started slowly down the slope. At the best of
times this descent for him demanded caution. Now his vision was again
so que