extravagantly over-sized and sumptuous bed. He looked away again.

"I wish you would tell me what you really mean by that Greek idea of
yours," he said with the abruptness of confusion.

Celia did not display much enthusiasm in the tone of her answer. "Oh,"
she said almost indifferently, "lots of things. Absolute freedom from
moral bugbears, for one thing. The recognition that beauty is the only
thing in life that is worth while. The courage to kick out of one's life
everything that isn't worth while; and so on."

"But," said Theron, watching the mingled delicacy and power of the bared
arm and the shapely grace of the hand which she had lifted to her
face, "I am going to get you to teach it ALL to me." The memories began
crowding in upon him now, and the baffling note upon which the mazurka
had stopped short chimed like a tuning-fork in his ears. "I want to be
a Greek myself, if you're one. I want to get as close to you--to your
ideal, that is, as I can. You open up to me a whole world that I had not
even dreamed existed. We swore our friendship long ago, you know: and
now, after tonight--you and the music have decided me. I am going to put
the things out of MY life that are not worthwhile. Only you must help
me; you must tell me how to begin."

He looked up as he spoke, to enforce the almost tender entreaty of his
words. The spectacle of a yawn, only fractionally concealed behind those
talented fingers, chilled his soft speech, and sent a flush over his
face. He rose on the instant.

Celia was nothing abashed at his discovery. She laughed gayly in
confession of her fault, and held her hand out to let him help her
disentangle her foot from her draperies, and get off the divan. It
seemed to be her meaning that he should continue holding her hand after
she was also standing.

"You forgive me, don't you?" she urged smilingly. "Chopin always first
excites me, then sends me to sleep. You see how YOU sleep tonight!"

The brown, velvety eyes rested upon him, from under their heavy lids,
with a languorous kindliness. Her warm, large palm clasped his in frank
liking.

"I don't want to sleep at all," Mr. Ware was impelled to say. "I want to
lie awake and think about--about everything all over again."

She smiled drowsily. "And you're sure you feel strong enough to walk
home?"

"Yes," he replied, with a lingering dilatory note, which deepened upon
reflection into a sigh. "Oh, yes."

He followed her and her candle dow