"She is often thus!" he said in a tone of playful resignation,--
"As I told thee, Theos,--women are butterflies, hovering hither
and thither on uneasy pinions, uncertain of their own desires.
Niphrata is a woman-riddle,--sometimes she angers me,--sometimes
she soothes, ... now she prattles of things that concern me not,--
and anon converses with such high and lofty earnestness of speech,
that I listen amazed, and wonder where she hath gathered up her
store of seeming wisdom."

"Love teaches her all she knows!" interrupted Theos quickly and
with a meaning glance.

Sah-luma laughed languidly, a faint color warming the clear olive
pallor of his complexion.

"Aye,--poor tender little soul, she loves me,".. he said
carelessly--"That is no secret! But then all women love me,--I am
more like to die of a surfeit of love than of anything else" He
moved towards the open window "Come!--" he added--"It is the hour
of sunset,--there is a green hillock in my garden yonder from
whence we can behold the pomp and panoply of the golden god's
departure. 'Tis a sight I never miss,--I would have thee share its
glory with me."

"But art thou then indifferent to woman's tenderness?" asked Theos
half banteringly, as he took his arm--"Dost thou love no one?"

"My friend"--replied Sah-luma seriously--"I love Myself! I see
naught that contents me more than my own Personality,--and with