dows, and motioned John to sit by her side.

"You have come to find out, to understand--is that not so?" she
inquired. "What you know of life, the prince tells me, you have learned
from books. Now you have come to discover what more than that there is
to be learned in the world of men and women."

"Did the prince tell you all this?" John asked.

"He did," she admitted. "He seems much interested in you."

"He has been very kind," John said.

She turned her head slowly and looked at him.

"A young man to whom the prince chooses to be kind is, in a way,
fortunate," she said. "I think he knows more of life than any other
person whom I ever met."

"You have known him for long?"

"In Budapest, five years ago; in Russia, the season afterward; then in
Paris; in Petersburg again, and now in London. The prince has been a
faithful friend. He came once from Florence to Petersburg, to be present
at my first night at the opera. Always he impresses me the same way.
There is very little in life, in men or in women, which he does not
understand. Let us return to what we were speaking about. I find it very
interesting."

"You are very kind," John declared.

"What you will learn here," she went on, "depends very much upon
yourself. Are you intelligent? Perhaps not very," she added, looking at
him critically. "You have brains, however, without a doubt. You have
also what places you at once _en rapport_ with the cult of the
moment--you are wonderfully good-looking."

John moved a little uneasily in his place. He felt that the dancer's
eyes were fixed upon him, and he was feverishly anxious not to respond
to the invitation of their gaze. He was conscious, too, of the queer,
indefinable fascination of her near presence in the dimly lighted room.

"What you will learn," she proceeded, "depends very much upon your
desires. If you seek for the best, and are content with nothing else,
you will find it. But so few men are content to wait!"

"I intend to," John said simply.

"Look at me, please," she ordered.

Once more he was compelled to look into her deep-blue eyes. The
incomprehensible smile was still upon her lips.

"You have loved?"

"No," he answered, taken a little aback by the abruptness of the
question.

"You grow more wonderful! How old are you, may I ask?"

"Twenty-eight."

"At the present moment, then, you are free from any distracting thoughts
about women? You have no entanglements?"

"I have nothing of the