irst time. Although lovely in itself both in colour and material,
fiercely lovely, like the skin of some savage beast, it did not blend
with the rest of the room, with the dim hues of the superb embroideries
and prayer-rugs, with the dark wood of the lattices that covered the
windows. Like the cheap clocks on the exquisite brackets, and the vulgar
ornaments from Naples and Paris, it seemed to reveal a certain
childishness in this man, a bad taste that was naive in its crudity, but
daring in its determination to be gratified. Oddly, almost violently,
this curtain, these clocks and vases, the musical-box, even the tiny
gilded ball that rose and fell in the fountain, displayed a part of him
strangely different from that which had selected the almost miraculously
beautiful rugs, and the embroideries on the divans. Exquisite taste was
married with a commonness that was glaring.

Mrs. Armine wished she could see his bedroom.

"I wish--" she began, and stopped.

"Yes, madame?" said Baroudi.

"What is it, Ruby?" asked Nigel.

"You'll laugh at me. But I wish you would both go out upon the balcony,
shut the doors, and leave me for a minute shut up alone in here. I think
I should feel as if I were in the heart of an Eastern house."

"In a harim, do you mean?" asked Nigel.

"That--perhaps. Do go."

Baroudi smiled, showing his rows of tiny teeth.

"Come, Mr. Armeen!" he said.

He stepped out on to the balcony, followed by Nigel, and pulled out from
the recess the first of the sliding doors.

"You really wish the other, too?" he asked, looking in upon Mrs. Armine.
"You will be quite in the dark."

"Shut it!" she said, in a low voice.

He pulled out the second door. Gently it slid across the oblong of
sunlight, blotting out the figures of the two men from her sight.
Baroudi had said that she would be quite in the dark. That was not
absolutely true. How and from where she could not determine, a very
faint suggestion--it was hardly more than that--of light stole in to
show the darkness to her. She went to the divan on the starboard side of
the vessel, felt for some cushions, piled them together, and lay down,
carefully, so as not to disarrange her hat. The divan was soft and
yielding. It held and caressed her body, almost as if it were an
affectionate living thing that knew of her present desire. The cushions
supported her arm as she lay sideways--listening, and keeping perfectly
still.

She had some imagination, altho