admiration he made no attempt to conceal. After a little pause
Gervase moved towards him a step or two, and caught part of the
conversation.

"You look the very beau-ideal of an Egyptian Princess," Murray was
saying. "Your costume is perfect."

She laughed. Again that sweet, rare laughter! Gervase thrilled
with the pulsation of it,--it beat in his ears and smote his brain
with a strange echo of familiarity.

"Is it not?" she responded. "I am 'historically correct,' as your
friend Dr. Dean would say. My ornaments are genuine,--they all
came out of the same tomb."

"I find one fault with your attire, Princess," said one of the
male admirers who had entered with her; "part of your face is
veiled. That is a cruelty to us all!"

She waived the compliment aside with a light gesture.

"It was the fashion in ancient Egypt," she said. "Love in those
old days was not what it is now,--one glance, one smile was
sufficient to set the soul on fire and draw another soul towards
it to consume together in the suddenly kindled flame! And women
veiled their faces in youth, lest they should be deemed too
prodigal of their charms; and in age they covered themselves still
more closely, in order not to affront the Sun-God's fairness by
their wrinkles." She smiled, a dazzling smile that drew Gervase
yet a few steps closer unconsciously, as though he were being