agine Mrs. Wallace quite close to him, wearing the things
that he had seen her wear, and with her movements he noticed the
excessive scent she used. He wondered whether she had overcome that
failing, whether she still affected the artificiality which was so
adorable a relief from the primness of manner which he had thought the
natural way of women.

If her cheeks were not altogether innocent of rouge or her eyebrows of
pencil, what did he care; he delighted in her very faults; he would not
have her different in the very slightest detail; everything was part of
that complex, elusive fascination. And James thought of the skin which
had the even softness of fine velvet, and the little hands. He called
himself a fool for his shyness. What could have been the harm if he had
taken those hands and kissed them? Now, in imagination, he pressed his
lips passionately on the warm palms. He liked the barbaric touch in the
many rings which bedecked her fingers.

"Why do you wear so many rings?" he asked. "Your hands are too fine."

He would never have ventured the question, but now there was no danger.
Her answer came with a little, good-humoured laugh; she stretched out
her fingers, looking complacently at the brilliant gems.

"I like to be gaudy. I should like to be encrusted with jewels. I want
to wear bracelets to my elbow and diamond spangles on my arms; and
jewelled belts, and jewels in my hair, and on my neck. I should like to
flash from head to foot with exotic stones."

Then she looked at him with amusement.

"Of course, you think it's vulgar. What do I care? You all of you think
it's vulgar to be different from other people. I want to be unique."

"You want everybody to look at you?"

"Of course I do! Is it sinful? Oh, I get so impatient with all of you,
with your good taste and your delicacy, and your insupportable dulness.
When you admire a woman, you think it impertinent to tell her she's
beautiful; when you have good looks, you carry yourselves as though you
were ashamed."

And in a bold moment he replied:

"Yet you would give your soul to have no drop of foreign blood in your
veins!"

"I?" she cried, her eyes flashing with scorn. "I'm proud of my Eastern
blood. It's not blood I have in my veins, it's fire--a fire of gold.
It's because of it that I have no prejudices, and know how to enjoy my
life."

James smiled, and did not answer.

"You don't believe me?" she asked.

"No!"

"Well, perhaps I should