ady, come to me for inspection! And
remember! You are to look your best tonight."

He turned with the last words and looked at her. His brows went up as he
realized her attitude--the tense resistance of the slight figure
withstanding him.

But it was only for a moment or two that the girl maintained her stand.
At sight of the look that leaped to his eyes, her own were swiftly
lowered. She drew back from him.

"I will do--whatever you wish," she said again nervously. "You know
that."

"Yes, I know that," said Saltash with his quick grimace. "You have my
sympathy, Nonette. Now go, _ma chere_, go!"

She went from his presence like a small hunted animal.

Saltash shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down again to the vestibule.
The crowd had grown. They were watching the great entrance-door
expectantly for the coming of the celebrated dancer. Saltash called for a
drink, and mingled with the throng.

The Italian, Spentoli, came up presently and joined him. "I am hoping,"
he said, "that you will presently give me the great honour of presenting
me to your bride."

Saltash looked at him. Spentoli was one of the very few men for whom he
entertained respect. The Italian's work had always held an immense
attraction for his artistic soul, and he had never troubled to disguise
the fact.

"My wife is young and shy," he said, after a moment. "I will present
you--some day, Spentoli, but it may not be yet."

"This is her first visit to Paris?" questioned Spentoli.

"Not her first. But she does not know Paris well." Saltash spoke
carelessly. "I am not showing her everything at once. I think that is a
mistake."

"That is true," agreed Spentoli. "The freshness of youth is gone all too
soon. But she will be superbly beautiful in a few years' time. Will you
permit me to congratulate you on the excellence of your choice?"

Saltash grimaced. "Do we ever choose?" he said. "Do we not rather receive
such gifts as the gods send us in more or less of a grudging spirit?"

Spentoli smiled. "I did not think you would marry one so young," he said.
"She has the athletic look of a boy. She reminds me--"

"Of a picture called 'The Victim' by one--Spentoli!" Saltash's voice was
suave. "A cruel picture, _mon ami_, but of an amazing merit. I have seen
the likeness also. Where did you get it?"

The Italian was still smiling, but his eyes were wary.

"From a little circus-rider in California," he said. "A child--an imp of
a child--astoni