Soon, however, Linda saw that the dog had wriggled out of captivity. It made a cautious progress to where the candy stood on a low stand and ran an appreciative tongue over the exposed sweet surfaces. Rapidly a sugared fig was snapped up. Linda held her breath; no one had noticed the animal yet--perhaps it would reach one of the objectors and she would have the thrill of witnessing the departure for Mecca. But, as always, nothing so romantic occurred; the dog was discovered, and the Mohammedans, with a hurried politeness, made their salaams. Instead, a man with a quizzical scrutiny through glasses that made him resemble an owl, stopped before her. “'Here we go 'round the mulberry-bush,'” he chanted. “Hello, Kate Greenaway. Have you had a drink?” “Yes, thank you,” she replied sedately. “Certified milk?” “It was something with gin,” she particularized, “and too sweet.” He took the place beside her and solemnly recited a great many nursery rhymes. On the whole she liked him, deciding that he was very wicked. Soon he was holding her hand in both of his. “I know you're not real,” he proceeded. “Verlaine wrote you--_'Les Ingenus':_ “'From which the sudden gleam of whiteness shed Met in our eyes a frolic welcoming.' “What if I'd kiss you?” “Nothing,” she returned coldly. “You're remarkable!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm. “If you are not already one of the celebrated beauties you're about to be. As cool as a fish! Look--Pleydon is going to rise and spill little Russia. Have you heard her sing Scriabine?” Linda ignored him in a sharp return of her interest in the big carelessly-dressed man. He put Susanna Noda aside and moved to the dim middle of the room. His features, Linda saw, were rugged and pronounced; he was very strong. For a moment he stood gazing at the Winged Victory, his brow gathered into a frown, while he made a caressing gesture with his whole hand. Then he swung about and, from the heavy shadows of his face, he looked down at her. He was still for a disconcerting length of time, but through which Linda steadily met his interrogation. Then he bent over and seriously removed the man beside her. “Adieu, Louis,” he said. The weight of Pleydon's body depressed the entire divan. “An ordinary man,” he told her, “would ask how the devil you got here. Then he would take you to your home with some carefully chosen words for whatever parents you had. But I can see that all this is needless. You are an extremely immaculate person. “That isn't necessarily admirable,” he added. “I don't believe I am admirable at all,” Linda replied. “How old are you?” he demanded abruptly. She told him. “Age doesn't exist for some women, they are eternal,” he continued. “You see, I call you a woman, but you are not, and neither are you a child. You are Art--Art the deathless,” his gaze strayed back to the Victory.