ll men had heard but which only a true
daughter of the ancient tribe of the Ghawazi could perform.

Sometimes Zahara was proud of her descent from a dancing-girl of Kenneh.
This was always at night, when a sort of barbaric excitement possessed
her which came from the blood of her mother. Then, a new light entered
her eyes and they seemed to grow long and languid and dark, so that no
one would have suspected that in daylight they were blue.

A wild pagan abandon claimed her, and she seemed to hear the wailing of
reed instruments and the throb of the ancient drums which were played of
old before the kings of Egypt. Safiyeh was not a true dancing girl,
and because she knew none of those fine frenzies, she danced without
inspiration, like a brown puppet moved by strings. But she could play
upon an a'ood much better than Zahara, and therefore must not be upset
until she had played for the Dance of the Veils.

Seeing that the bargain was all but concluded, Zahara stole back to
her room. Her lightly clad body gleamed like that of some statue become
animate.

Her cheeks flushed as she took up the veils, of which she alone knew the
symbolic meaning; the white veil, the purple veil: each had its story to
tell her; and the veil of burning scarlet. In a corner of the big room
on a divan near the door she had seen the Spaniard, a handsome, swarthy
figure in his well-fitting dress clothes, and now, opening a drawer, she
glanced at the little pile of notes which represented her share of the
bargain. There were fifty. She had told Agapoulos that a distinguished
foreigner with an introduction from someone she knew had paid ten pounds
to be present. And because she had given Agapoulos the ten pounds,
Agapoulos had agreed to admit the visitor.

She could hear the Greek approaching now, but she was thinking of
Grantham whom she had last seen in laughing conversation with the tall,
gray-haired man. His laughter had appeared forced. Doubtless he grew
weary of the woman he had brought to London.

"Dance to-night with all the devil that is in you, my beautiful," said
Agapoulos, hurrying into the room.

Zahara turned aside, toying with the veils.

"They are rich, eh?" she said indifferently.

She was thinking of the fifty pounds which she had earned so easily; and
after all (how strangely her mind wandered) perhaps he was really tired
of the woman. The Spaniard had said so.

"Very rich," murmured Agapoulos complacently.

He brushed