denly a figure is poised in the space, her shadow cast
upon the glowing background.

It is the Spanish dancer!

The apparition evokes a flutter of applause. It is a superb figure, clad
in a high tight bodice and long skirts simply draped so as to show
every motion of the athletic limbs. She seems, in this pose and light,
supernaturally tall. Through her parted lips white teeth gleam, and she
smiles. Is it a smile of anticipated, triumph, or of contempt? Is it the
smile of the daughter of Herodias, or the invitation of a 'ghazeeyeh'?
She pauses. Shall she surprise, or shock, or only please? What shall the
art that is older than the pyramids do for these kneeling Christians?
The drum taps, the ney pipes, the mandolin twangs, her arms are
extended--the castanets clink, a foot is thrust out, the bosom heaves,
the waist trembles. What shall it be--the old serpent dance of the Nile,
or the posturing of decorous courtship when the olives are purple in the
time of the grape harvest? Her head, wreathed with coils of black hair,
a red rose behind the left ear, is thrown back. The eyes flash, there
is a snakelike movement of the limbs, the music hastens slowly in
unison with the quickening pulse, the body palpitates, seems to flash
invitation like the eyes, it turns, it twists, the neck is thrust
forward, it is drawn in, while the limbs move still slowly, tentatively;
suddenly the body from the waist up seems to twist round, with the waist
as a pivot, in a flash of athletic vigor, the music quickens, the arms
move more rapidly to the click of the heated castenets, the steps are
more pronounced, the whole woman is agitated, bounding, pulsing with
physical excitement. It is a Maenad in an access of gymnastic energy.
Yes, it is gymnastics; it is not grace; it is scarcely alluring. Yet
it is a physical triumph. While the spectators are breathless, the fury
ceases, the music dies, and the Spaniard sinks into a chair, panting
with triumph, and inclines her dark head to the clapping of hands and
the bravos. The kneelers rise; the spectators break into chattering
groups; the ladies look at the dancer with curious eyes; a young
gentleman with the elevated Oxford shoulders leans upon the arm of her
chair and fans her. The pose is correct; it is the somewhat awkward
tribute of culture to physical beauty.

To be on speaking terms with the phenomenon was for the moment a
distinction. The young ladies wondered if it would be proper to go
for