So Harwood, Lottie, and Markham stood together at one of the open windows, through which were borne the brazen strains of the distant band, and the faint sounds of the laughter of the lawn-tennis players, and the growls of the old Indians on the balcony. Daireen and the rest of the party had gone to the furthest window from which at an oblique angle one of the pictures was placed. Miss Vincent and Harwood soon found themselves chatting briskly; but Markham stood leaning against the wall behind them, with his eyes fixed upon Daireen, who was looking in a puzzled way at the picture. Markham wondered what was the element that called for this puzzled--almost troubled expression upon her face, but he could not see anything of the work. 'How very fine, is it not, George?' said Mrs. Crawford to Colonel Gerald as they stood back to gaze upon the painting. 'I think I'll go out and have a smoke,' replied the colonel smiling. Mrs. Crawford cast a reproachful glance towards him as he turned away, but Mr. Glaston seemed oblivious to every remark. 'Is it not wonderful, Daireen?' whispered Mrs. Crawford to the girl. 'Yes,' said Daireen, 'I think it is--wonderful,' and the expression upon her face became more troubled still. The picture was composed of a single figure--a half-naked, dark-skinned female with large limbs and wild black hair. She was standing in a high-roofed oriental kiosk upon a faintly coloured pavement, gazing with fierce eyes upon a decoration of the wall, representing a battle in which elephants and dromedaries were taking part. Through one of the arched windows of the building a purple hill with a touch of sunset crimson upon its ridge was seen, while the Evening Star blazed through the dark blue of the higher heaven. Daireen looked into the picture, and when she saw the wild face of the woman she gave a shudder, though she scarcely knew why. 'All but the face,' she said. 'It is too terrible--there is nothing of a woman about it.' 'My dear child, that is the chief wonder of the picture,' said Mr. Glaston. 'You recognise the subject, of course?' 'It might be Cleopatra,' said Daireen dubiously. 'Oh, hush, hush! never think of such a thing again,' said Mr. Glaston with an expression that would have meant horror if it had not been tempered with pity. 'Cleopatra is vulgar--vulgar--popular. That is Aholibah.' 'You remember, of course, my dear,' said Mrs. Crawford; 'she is a young woman in the Bible--one of the old parts--Daniel or Job or Hezekiah, you know. She was a Jewess or an Egyptian or something of that sort, like Judith, the young person who drove a nail into somebody's brain--they were always doing disagreeable things in those days. I can't recollect exactly what this dreadful creature did, but I think it was somehow connected with the head of John the Baptist.' 'Oh, no, no,' said Daireen, still keeping her eyes fixed upon the face of the figure as though it had fascinated her. 'Aholibah the painter has called it,' said