he unknown, linking this
woman to this man? Nothing was to be read from her face--no expression
of pleasure, none of chagrin; but in her half-veiled eyes a certain
brilliance was observable and her long, white fingers began softly to
drum upon the table in time to the music.

No explanation was demanded; in a clear, disconcerting flash, the
situation was laid bare. Here was woman desiring the love of man; woman
determined to reap her spoil. It was one issue in the deathless,
relentless struggle--the struggle wherein the little Jacqueline clung to
her M. Cartel, tenacious as the frail fern to the ungainly rock--wherein
Madame Salas had fought sickness and neglect to protect a fading life.
It was a truth--arresting as truth must ever be; and stricken with a
tingling fear, the boy drove it from him, and turned his eyes from the
fateful, shadowed face and the light, drumming fingers.

A new dance had begun: the grinning negro had seized upon the Spanish
girl and was whirling her down the room to the laughter of the company,
while her countryman looked round the tables in indifferent search for a
partner.

His glance skimmed the white figure at the lonely table, the eyes of the
woman were lifted for an instant, revealing a flash of their new light,
and in a moment the two were dancing again, moving up and down the
room, in and out between the tables with their original easy grace; but
this time the woman's lips were parted and her eyelids drooped in a
clever simulation of enjoyment.

Up and down they glided, passing and repassing the table where the
little dark lady supped with her two cavaliers, but never once did the
woman raise her eyes to the Englishman's or seem aware of the cold,
close glance that followed her movements; but once, as the music faded
to silence, and her white skirt swept past his table for the last time,
she murmured something softly in Spanish to her partner, and allowed one
level, effective glance to fall on his pallid face.

That was all; the waltz stopped, she disengaged herself gently, and
walked back alone to her table.

This waltz was followed by another and yet another, and again she fell
to her old attitude of lowered eyes and drumming fingers.

The Englishman at his table made pretence to eat his supper, poured
himself out a fresh glass of champagne, drank it, and with a suddenly
achieved decision, gave a cool laugh of excuse, rose and walked straight
toward the solitary figure.

Max