his attention.

Eye held eye. On Hanson's face was unconcealed triumph, a cynical
exultation. He nodded with smiling insolence, but Flick regarded him
with a blank stare of non-recognition for a moment or so and then turned
indifferently away. It was a matter of considerable surprise to those
who bent watchful eyes on him from various parts of the hall that he did
not, as far as they could see, speak either to Gallito or Seagreave.

In any event, he would have had but little time for consultation with
them, for almost immediately the curtains were drawn aside, Hugh began
to play, and Pearl made her appearance. That was the signal for applause
as prolonged as it was enthusiastic. She was like a vision of the spring
so eagerly awaited by these prisoners of winter. Her frock, which fell
to her ankles, was of some white, silky, soft material and was deeply
bordered with silver; her sleeves were of silver and there was a touch
of silver on the bodice. Her emeralds gleamed like green fire against
her bare white throat and as she danced a froth of rose-colored
petticoat was visible, foaming above her ankles.

To all those eager, watching people Pearl seemed truly the incarnation
of May in all its glory and shimmer, and Hughie's music was like the
silver, fluting notes of her insistent heralds proclaiming the south
wind, and bird calls and murmuring rivulets of melting snow. And when
she ceased and they finally permitted her to withdraw before dancing
again it was almost with a shock that they realized that the snow was
still falling outside.

It was then that Bob Flick turned at last to his two companions. "You've
seen?" was his brief, low-voiced comment. Both men nodded.