She laughed a soft, provocative laugh, and suddenly, without any
warning, the cloak had fallen from her shoulders and she was dancing.
There in the starlight, white-robed and wonderful, she danced as, it
seemed to the man's fascinated senses, no human had ever danced before.
She was like a white flame--a darting, fiery essence, soundless,
all-absorbing, all-entrancing.

He watched her with pent breath, bound by the magic of her, caught, as
it were, into the innermost circle of her being, burning in answer to
her fire, yet so curiously enthralled as to be scarcely aware of the
ever-mounting, ever-spreading heat. She was like a mocking spirit, a
will-o'-the-wisp, luring him, luring him--whither?

The dance quickened, became a passionate whirl, so that suddenly he
seemed to see a bright-winged insect caught in an endless web and
battling for freedom. He almost saw the silvery strands of that web
floating like gossamer in the starlight.

And then, with well-nigh miraculous suddenness, the struggle was over
and the insect had darted free. He saw her flash away, and found the
veranda empty.

Her cloak lay at his feet. He stooped with an odd sense of giddiness and
picked it up. A fragrance of roses came to him with the touch of it, and
for an instant he caught it up to his face. The sweetness seemed to
intoxicate him.

There came a light, inconsequent laugh; sharply he turned. She had
opened the window of his smoking-den and was standing in the entrance