IN A METROPOLITAN JUNGLE. Cryder called on Hermia Monday afternoon. Although the room was full he had a few words with her, and she thought him very charming. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “I have wanted to talk to you ever since I met you, but I was in such a bad humor the other night that I would not inflict you. Are you ever alone? Cannot I have an hour or two some evening?” Hermia smiled. “Come on Thursday evening. I have not another evening until late next week.” “I have an engagement, but I will break it. And will you think me impertinent if I ask you to show me all over this wonderful house? There is nothing like it in Europe.” “I shall be delighted,” said Hermia, enthusiastically. “So few people appreciate it.” “It is good of you to think I can. But in thought I always dwell in the past (he hated the past), and although my work is realistic, because realism is of more value to literature, yet my nature is essentially a romantic one. Only, one so seldom acknowledges romance, one is so afraid of being laughed at.” He watched her as he spoke, and saw a sudden gleam come into her eyes. A year’s training and her own native cleverness had taught Hermia not to believe all that men said to her, but Cryder had struck a well-loved chord. And she had no wish to be skeptical. On Thursday evening Hermia arrayed herself with great care. After much deliberation she donned a gown which as yet she had never worn. It was of tan-gold velvet, with irregular appliqués of dark-brown plush. Down the front was a curious design of gold braid and deep-green brilliants. She received Cryder in the conservatory. It had but recently been completed, and looked enough like a jungle to deceive the most suspicious of tigers. The green tiles of the floor were painted with a rank growth of grasses and ferns. Through the palms and tropical shrubs that crowded the conservatory glared the wild beasts of far-off jungles, marvelously stuffed and poised. The walls were forgotten behind a tapestry of reeds and birds of the Orient. In one corner was a fountain, simulating a pool, and on its surface floated the pink, fragrant lilies that lie on eastern lakes. Few people had seen this jungle—before its completion, Hermia had learned that it was dangerous to test her city’s patience too far. Hermia sat down on a bank and waited for the curtain to rise. She felt the humor of the situation, but she knew that the effect was good. A few moments later Cryder came in and was charmed. He had the same remote yearning for the barbaric that the small, blonde actor has for the part of the heavy villain. As he walked down the jungle toward Hermia, he felt that he gave this Eastern ideal its completing touch. Hermia held up her hand. “I would not have dared do this for any one but you,” she said, “but you will understand.”