a table
in the center of the room; a beautiful thing, glowing like some rare,
exotic flower. The thick, ruby-tinted shade smothered the flame, and
diffused it rosily. There was the odour of perfume in the air; not
grossly rank, and offensive, but subtly elusive; a delicate hint of some
rare and sense-numbing attar. She stood a little to one side of the
table. She was rather low, but superbly shaped. Her hands were behind
her, with fingers loosely laced. The lamp-glow encompassed her as in a
subdued flame. It fell upon her burnished hair--dull gold and copper
blent, and sank trembling into the depths of her eyes. Each feature was
perfect, or so nearly perfect that the chastening light made it appear
such. She was smiling.

Thus they faced each other again.

There was stark silence in the room. The man could not speak, and the
woman was not yet ready to. He stood, scarcely breathing, arms at his
sides, motionless. One straight lock of hair had fallen, and drew a
sharp black line across his forehead. He was looking at her, steadily,
desperately. His face was a mask of marble, but the woman knew too well
that the volcano was there beneath all that icy calm; surging, seething,
leaping and wrestling for a vent.

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

The voice was low and pleading, and full of melody. It smote upon the
man's sensibilities with the force and effect of an electric current.
His muscles became convulsed; his hands turned into clenched fists; his
jaws knotted.

"No!" he said, at last, in a hollow monosyllable.

"Yes, you are! Tell the truth. How are you, John?"

She was coming towards him, still smiling, one half bare arm outheld,
the embodiment and the perfect type of female loveliness. He avoided
her, and moved to another part of the room. It was all back again,
intensified an hundred fold. He knew it was of the devil; he knew that
the one great trial of his life was upon him. He did not love her in the
least--he swore in his soul that moment that he bore no particle of
affection for her. It was something else--something unearthly and
horrible, which sought to draw him on. The other nights of dalliance
which he had known returned, limned upon his conscience in lines of
burning fire. And he had thought himself safe! He moved back a pace,
where he could not see the angel-faced devils in her eyes. Look at her
he must. She saw his fear, and laughed low in her full, white throat.

"Won't you shake hands with me, and