on by the spell of those wistful eyes--Othello-like--he told her
the whole story of his life. For he stood before her, all unarmed
in his sudden love fever.

Two hours sped by in a lingering day dream, until, yielding to
his murmured entreaties, Irma Gluyas sat down at the piano, and
in thrilling half voice, sang him the songs of the far off Magyar
land.

As Merlin forgot his wisdom before the wily white-bosomed Vivien,
so did the stormy-hearted American yield to the charm of the woman
who sat there, with the choicest flowers of his offering clustered
over her sculptured breast. Love's old, old story of a total
surrender.

And then, as the last melody died away, the Hungarian witch softly
sighed, "The shadows are already stealing in! We have stolen a few
happy moments, mon ami. Ships that meet, and speak, and pass. I
will not say Adieu! I will only say that I hope to meet you again.
But your world and mine are so different. I have my career to
make, and you must go on and be a money prince. There are no other
princes in your workaday America!" Madame Raffoni was nodding in
an alcove when the enraptured Randall Clayton caught the diva's
hand. For he could not bear to lose her now; his heart clamored
for her love.

His kisses warmed its veined marble as he whispered, "I must see
you again. We two are alone in the world. I owe you a return of
your gallant hospitality."