with the
surprise of those last moments at the gate, her heart still beating
with the touch of Ryder's arms about her ... of that long, deep look
... that kiss, beyond all else, that kiss....

Little rivers of fire were running through her veins. Shame and
proud anger set up their swift reactions. Oh, what wings of wild,
incredible folly had brought her to this! To be kissed like--like a
dancing girl--by a man, an unknown, an American!

How could he, how could he! After all his kindness--to hold her so
lightly.... And yet there had been no lightness in his eyes, those
eager, shining young eyes, so gravely concerned....

But she could not stop to think of this thing. Her father was
waiting.

"He came in like a fury," the old nurse was panting, as they
scurried up the walk together, "and asked for you ... and your room
empty, your bed not touched!... Oh, Allah's ruth upon me, I went
trotting through the house, mad with fear.... Up to the roofs then
down to the garden ... sending him word that you were dressing that
he should not know the only child of his house was a shameless one,
devoid of sense."

"But there is no harm in a garden," breathed the girl, her face hot
with shame. "To-night was so hot--"

"Is there no coolth upon the roof?"

"But the roses--"

"Can roses not be brought you? Have you no maids to attend you?"

"I am tired of being attended! Can I never be alone--"

"Alone in the garden!... A pretty talk! Eh, I will tell thy father,
I will have a stop put to this--_hush_, would you have him hear?"
she admonished, in a sudden whisper, as they opened the little door
at the foot of the dark well of spiral steps.

Like conspirators they fled up the staircase, and then with fumbling
haste the old nurse dragged off the girl's mantle and veil,
muttering at the pins that secured it. She shook out the
pale-flowered chiffon of her rumpled frock and gathered back a
strand of her dark, disordered hair.

"Say that you were on the roofs," she besought her.

For a moment the girl put the warm rose of her cheek against the old
woman's dark, wrinkled one.

"But you are good, Dadi," she said softly, using the Turkish word
for familiar old servants.

With a sound of mingled vexation and affection Miriam pushed her
ahead of her into the drawing-room.

It was a long, dark room, on whose soft, buff carpet the little gilt
chairs and sofas were set about with the empty expectancy of a stage
scene in a French s