soil that the moon flooded with great splendor. They floated out
like drifting moths under the rich hazy light, and as the
fantastic symphony wept and exulted and wavered and despaired
Ardita's last sense of reality dropped away, and she abandoned
her imagination to the dreamy summer scents of tropical flowers
and the infinite starry spaces overhead, feeling that if she
opened her eyes it would be to find herself dancing with a ghost
in a land created by her own fancy.

"This is what I should call an exclusive private dance," he
whispered.

"I feel quite mad--but delightfully mad!"

"We're enchanted. The shades of unnumbered generations of
cannibals are watching us from high up on the side of the cliff
there."

"And I'll bet the cannibal women are saying that we dance too
close, and that it was immodest of me to come without my
nose-ring."

They both laughed softly--and then their laughter died as over
across the lake they heard the trombones stop in the middle of a
bar, and the saxaphones give a startled moan and fade out.

"What's the matter?" called Carlyle.

After a moment's silence they made out the dark figure of a man
rounding the silver lake at a run. As he came closer they saw it