Early as she dared that forenoon, Dolores had sought audience with the King. From calculation new to her, she had arrayed herself to please him. Ceding the mauves and dove grays that seemed best to express her, she had selected one of the court creations designed for her by the master electrician of His Highness’s own robes--an effect as of dawn-tinted tulles weighted by a tunic sewn over with rose rubies. Her hair she had wrapped about her head like a splendid coronet. To the handle of the jasper-like staff to be carried with the costume she had fastened the tiny dynamo of a full-blown, scarlet rose and in the ribbon of one silver sandal, just over the high-arched instep, had tied a closed, pearl-dewed bud. Upon Adeline’s verdict of “Exquisite, madame!” she had studied the mercury lest any possibility of further effect be neglected. The reflection was of a woman-soul, young, fresh, hopeful as the early morn, yet already aglow from the red realizations of her noon-day. His Majesty received her alone in the throne-room. Among fulsome compliments he interspersed his gratification that she had not awaited a summons from him. Dolores was more surprised by this affability than she should have been by any new truculence. For the first moments she found herself overcome by what she had prepared to overcome in him--indignation. “Then you did not really suspect me last night?” He lifted a protesting hand. “You wouldn’t deprive me of that pleasure? Can’t you conceive how much rivals are enjoyed by the admirer who need have no fear?” He descended the dais to substantiate the claim in the mirror. After he had placed the prime minister’s chair for her, she gave him her answer. She would accept the office of Low Priestess. At the quiet pronouncement a gleam lit the steel of his eyes. “I am glad,” said he. “Sooner or later--probably sooner _than_ later--I should have made you accept it. However, it is gratifying that you have done so, shall we say, _near_-voluntarily? You make me hope that----” He bent his head and looked into her face. Soon he finished in the smooth voice of a hierophant expounding his doctrine. “You make me hope several things of you. From your viewpoint I ought to despise you for last night’s discovery that your vamping mania has consumed a soldier from my ranks doddering enough to be your grandfather.” “You are too intelligent to believe that,” she flashed. “Nice work for an earthly audience. But it’s not to your interest to convince me. I am too delighted to find you worse than you at times appear. Did you notice down in the world that the virtuous women keep the devotion of their men? I guess not. One difference between me and male earthlings is that I own up to a depravity which they are taught from birth to deny. The worse I think you, the longer you’re likely to hold me. Pray let me dream on!” “To hold--_you?_” Something of sincerity in his voice forced the query. Instantly she regretted it.