smond, has it ever occurred to you that I am serpentine?"

He was startled and made no answer.

"Well--has it?"

"Yes," he said truthfully.

"Why?"

"Every one thinks so. You are so thin. You move so silently. Your body
is so elastic and controlled. You always look as if you could glide into
places where other women could never go, and be at home in attitudes
they could never assume."

"But I'm an actress--my body is trained, you know, to lie, to fall, as I
choose."

"Other actresses don't give one the same impression."

"No," she said thoughtfully. "My peculiar physique has a great deal to
do with it."

"Of course, and there's something more than that, something mental."

Claire's heavy eyes grew more thoughtful. The white lids fluttered lower
over them till they looked like the eyes of one half asleep. She lay in
silence, plunged in a reverie that was deep and dark. In this reverie
she forgot to move her fan, which dropped from her hand and fell softly
upon the rug. Renfrew did not interrupt her. His worship had learned to
wait upon her moods. A huge dragon-fly passed on its journey towards the
far blue range of the Atlas Mountains. It whirred in its haste, and its
burnished body shone in the sunshine between its gleaming wings. Claire
snatched at it with her hand, but missed it.

"I should like to wear it as a jewel," she said.

Then she turned slowly again towards Renfrew, and continued her nocturne
as if it had never been broken off.

"The canvas flap fell down again over the doorway, Desmond, and it
seemed that just then the breeze died away, expiring in that angry gust.
I could not see anything but the interior of the tent, and only that
very dimly. But this man outside. I wanted to see him."

"Did you recognise that he was not one of the soldiers, then?"

"Perfectly. He was not dressed as they are. They were entirely muffled
up with hoods drawn forward above their faces. And in their hands one
could see their guns. This man was bareheaded, and looked half naked.
And in his hands--"

She stopped meditatively.

"Was there anything in his hands?"

"Well--yes, there was."

"What?"

"I wanted to know what it was. But at first I only lay quite still and
wished the wind would come again and blow the flap up so that I could
see out. But it had quite gone down. The canvas did not even quiver."

"Was it near dawn?"

"I haven't an idea. Does the breeze sink then?"

"Very often."

"Ah! Perha