And Judith? It seemed to Reuben that never before had he seen that light in her eyes, never that flush on her soft cheek, never that strange, indescribable, almost passionate air in her pose, in her whole presence. His own heart was beating with a wild, incredulous anger, an astonished contempt. _He_ to be careful of Judith; _he_ to beware of engaging her feelings too deeply, _he_, who after all these years had never been able to bring that look into her eyes! Bertie? it was impossible! In any case (with sudden vindictiveness) it was unlikely that Bertie himself meant anything; and yet--yet--he was just the sort of man to do an idiotic thing of the kind. The music struck up, and the dancers drifted back to the ball-room. Reuben, bowing himself away, turned to see Judith and her escort standing behind him, while the latter, gathering courage, wrote his name again and again on her card. Reuben remained a moment in doubt, then went straight up to her. “Good-evening, Miss Quixano.” There was a note of irony in his voice, a look of irony on his pale, tense face; the glance that he shot at her from his brilliant eyes was almost cruel. “Ah, good-evening, Reuben.” She gave a little gasp, thrilled, bewildered. Long ago, her searching glance travelling across the two crowded rooms had distinguished the top of Reuben’s head in the hall beyond. She knew just the way the hair grew, just the way it was lifted from the forehead in a sidelong crest, just the way it was beginning to get a little thin at the temples. Bertie moved off in search of his partner, with a bow and a reminder of future engagements. “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Reuben retained his tone of ironical formality, but looking into her uplifted face his jealousy faded and was forgotten. She held up her card with a smile; it was quite full. Reuben took it gently from her hand, glanced at it, and tore it into fragments. Judith said not a word. To both of them the little act seemed fraught with strange significance, the beginning of a new phase in their mutual relations. Reuben gave her his arm in silence; she took it, half frightened, and he led her to the furthermost corner of the crimson recess. The dancers, overflowing from the ball-room beyond, closed about it, and they were screened from sight. Reuben leaned forward, looking at her with eyes that seemed literally alight with some inward flame. The precautions, the restraints, the reserves which had hitherto fenced in their intercourse, were for the moment overthrown. Each was swept away on a current of feeling which was bearing them who knew whither? To Judith, Reuben was no longer a commodity of the market with a high price set on him; he was a piteous human creature who entreated her with his eyes, yet held her chained: her suppliant and her master. A soft wind blew in suddenly through the red curtains and stirred the hair on Judith’s forehead. “Aren’t you cold?”