“Atlantis over again! And quite in order that the race should perish through the excesses of woman. Then Nature, having wiped her slate clean with a whoop, will begin all over again and precisely where she did before. No doubt she will permit a few records to survive as a warning.” “You may be right--but, although I have an idea I shall one day want to justify my existence by being of some use, it won’t be because my sex instinct has got the better of my intelligence. But I refuse to think of that until I have had a royal good time for a few years.” “That is your right,” he said impulsively. “You are altogether exceptional--and you have had six years of Butte! I am glad your mine has panned out so splendidly. There is quite an excitement in the Sampling Works----” “What?” Ora forgot Gregory Compton. “I knew the mine was doing well----” “Surely you know that your profits in royalties already must be something over a hundred thousand dollars----” He stopped in confusion. Ora’s face was radiant and she never had liked Mark as sincerely as at that moment. “It is just like him! He wanted to wait and give me a great surprise--my husband, I mean.” “And I have spoilt it! I am really sorry. Please don’t tell him.” “I won’t. And I’ll be the most surprised woman in the world when he takes me to the bank to sign my letter of credit. You needn’t mind. I’ll have the fun of thinking about it for five months--and rolling it up in my imagination. Ah!” “Compton has recognised you, I think.” Ora had met the long narrow concentrated gaze of her husband’s friend. She bowed slightly. Compton made a step forward, hesitated, braced himself, and walked toward her. “A constitutionally shy man, but a brave one,” said Professor Becke with a grim smile, as he rose to resign his seat. “A strong magnet has pulled up many a sinking heart. Good evening, Compton. Glad you honour our party, even if you don’t dance.” “I intend to ask Mrs. Blake to dance.” Gregory betrayed nothing of his inner trepidation although he did not smile. He could always rely upon the stern mask into which he had trained his visage not to betray him. Ora, oblivious of her resolution not to dance, rose and placed her hand on his shoulder, smiling an absent farewell to Professor Becke. For a moment she forgot her resentful interest in this man in her astonishment that he danced so well. She had the impression of dancing with a light supple creature of the woods, one who could be quite abandoned if he chose, although he held her as if he were embracing a feather. She wondered if it were his drop of aboriginal blood and looked up suddenly. To her surprise he was smiling, and his smile so altered the immobility of his face that she lost her breath. “I feel as if I were dancing with a snowflake,” was his unexpected remark. “You look the last man to pay compliments and murmur sweet nothings.” “Are you disappointed?”