So Ajeet took her to the palace to dance, but, of course, he had to
cool his heels without the _durbar_ chamber--smoke the hooka and chat
with other natives while the one of desire was within.

The girl had an exquisite sense of the beauty of simplicity--both in
dress and manner, and in her art; it was as if a lotus flower had been
animated--given life. Her dancing was a floaty rhythm, an undulating
drifting to the soft call of the _sitar_; and her voice, when she sang
the _ghazal_, the love-song, was soft, holding the compelling power of
subdued passion--it thrilled Barlow with an emotion that, when she had
finished, caused him to take himself to task. It was as if he had
said, "By Jove! fancy I've had a bit too much of that champagne--better
look out."

Nana Sahib and the Captain were sitting side by side, and the Gulab,
when she had finished the song, had swept her sinuous lithe form back
in a graceful curtsy in front of the two, and, as if by accident, a red
rose had floated to the feet of Captain Barlow. Surely her soft, dark,
languorous eyes had said: "For thee."

With a cynical smile Nana Sahib picked up the rose and presented it to
Barlow saying: "My dear Captain, you receive the golden apple--beauty
will out."

Barlow's fingers trembled with suppressed emotion as he took the flower
and carefully slipped it into a buttonhole.

Elizabeth, who sat next him, saw this by-play, and her voice was cold
as she commented: "Homage is a delightful thing, but it spoils