Georgy had risen and was crossing the room, and now, passing Mr. Floyd, paused and looked down into his face as he surveyed her with a slightly satirical air. "I am glad of anybody's prayers," she returned, quite unruffled, "but I am afraid, Mr. Floyd, yours are merely a pretty figure of speech." Mr. Floyd suddenly sprang to his feet and walked up and down the room with a restless way he had. "I have it! I have it!" he exclaimed with a triumphant air. "It is a picture of a Wili of whom you remind me, Miss Lenox. I saw it in R----'s studio at Rome.--Don't you remember it, Floyd?" I knew it very well, and was aware, besides, that R---- had got the face from Dart's sketch-book. "What is a Wili?" inquired Georgy, looking at me. "You know I used to go to you for all my bits of knowledge when I was a little girl, Mr. Randolph." I rose and crossed the room to her side. "A Wili," said I, "is a betrothed maiden who dies before her wedding-day. Your knowledge of your sex may tell you why it is that she is never at peace in her grave, but is impelled by some unconquerable love of life to rise every night and dance till morning." "With whom does she dance? Her unfortunate lover?" "Oh, where Wilis live you see them dancing together in the woods and fields by moonlight and starlight, their white arms wreathed about each other and their long hair floating. When a Wili meets a youth abroad in the night-time she beseeches him to dance with her; and the voice of the Wili is so sweet, her eyes so terribly beautiful, her clasp so horribly close, that whether he will or not he must join the fatal dance and keep pace with her eager, frenzied movements. When morning comes the Wili has gone back to her grave." "And where is the young man?" asked Georgy. "They find him dead on the grass," put in Thorpe, who was standing behind Helen's chair. "It is death to dance with a Wili." "Both of you seem very experienced young men," remarked Miss Lenox calmly. "Did either of you ever meet with a Wili?" "I have frequently met them on flowering meads," I returned, laughing, "but when they invite me to dance I tell them I am unable to dance with even the prettiest of live women, I am such a miserable cripple." "It's rather a pretty story," mused Georgy, "but I don't quite see what it means.--Do you, Helen?" "It seems to be a sort of warning to young men to keep in o' nights," returned Helen with a droll little air. "Dead women never trouble me," said Thorpe, "but I have had no end of charming dances with live ones.--Do you waltz, Miss Floyd?" "Oh yes. Miss Lenox and I waltz together whenever we can get any one to play for us." "That must be a tame amusement," rejoined Thorpe with an ineffable air of conceit. "Thanks for the neat compliment," said Georgy, "but neither Miss Floyd nor myself suffer from the tameness." "Oh, allow me to explain--"