owers, whose judgment Keyork Arabian could deceive, but whose
self-possession he could not move, except to anger, was at the present
moment both weak and unbalanced. Ten minutes earlier she had fancied
that it would be an easy thing to fix her eyes on his and to cast the
veil of a half-sleep over his already half-dreaming senses. She had
fancied that it would be enough to say "Come," and that he would follow.
She had formed the bold scheme of attaching him to herself, by visions
of the woman whom he loved as she wished to be loved by him. She
believed that if he were once in that state she could destroy the old
love for ever, or even turn it to hate, at her will. And it had seemed
easy. That morning, when he had first come to her, she had fastened her
glance upon him more than once, and she had seen him turn a shade paler,
had noticed the drooping of his lids and the relaxation of his hands.
She had sought him in the street, guided by something surer than
instinct, she had found him, had read his thoughts, and had felt him
yielding to her fixed determination. Then, suddenly, her power had left
her, and as she walked beside him, she knew that if she looked into his
face she would blush and be confused like a shy girl. She almost wished
that he would leave her without a word and without an apology.

It was not possible, however, to prolong the silence much longer. A
vague fear seized her. Had she really lost all her dominating strength
in the first moments of the first sincere passion she had ever felt?
Was she reduced to weakness by his presence, and unable so much as to
sustain a fragmentary conversation, let alone suggesting to his mind
the turn it should take? She was ashamed of her poverty of spirit in the
emergency. She felt herself tongue-tied, and the hot blood rose to her
face. He was not looking at her, but she could not help fancying that he
knew her secret embarrassment. She hung her head and drew her veil down
so that it should hide even her mouth.

But her trouble increased with every moment, for each second made it
harder to break the silence. She sought madly for something to say,
and she knew that her cheeks were on fire. Anything would do, no
matter what. The sound of her own voice, uttering the commonest of
commonplaces, would restore her equanimity. But that simple, almost
meaningless phrase would not be found. She would stammer, if she tried
to speak, like a child that has forgotten its lesson and fea