glad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... ah! she 'as
your eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such a
big girl... ah! but she make me feel old!"

She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head so
that the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed.

"But you will come to my room, hein?" she went on. "Marie, my
wrap!" and she led the way to the lift.

Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of people
and flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfect
bower of hot-house blooms and plants". Head and shoulders above
everybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer in
uniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress.

Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his life
more charming than the picture the dancer made as she came into
the room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars of
her cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after the
exertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out from
beneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back in
its place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst she
extended the other to Strangwise.

"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching her
closely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling,
almost a hostile tone, in her voice.

Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice.