Dillon, who counted himself a man of the world, was temporarily at a loss for a suitable rejoinder. The cause of his hesitancy was twofold. In the first place he had reached the age of disillusionment, whereat a man ceases to believe that a perfectly lovely woman exists in the flesh, and in the second place he had found such a fabulous being in a house of gloom and silence to which, a few moments ago, he had deeply regretted having come. His father, who had accepted the invitation from an old college friend on his son's behalf, had made no mention of a Phryné, whereas Phryné clearly took herself for granted and evidently knew all about Jack Dillon. The latter experienced a volcanic change of sentiment; Hollow Grange was metamorphosed, and assumed magically the guise of a Golden House, an Emperor's pleasure palace, a fair, old-world casket holding this lovely jewel. But who was she?--and in what spirit should he receive her bewildering coquetries? "I trust," he said, looking into the laughing eyes, "that you will learn to know me better." Phryné curtsied mockingly. "You have either too much confidence in your own character or not enough in my wisdom," she said. Dillon stepped into the room, and, stooping, took up a book which lay open upon the floor. It was a French edition of _The Golden Ass_ of Apuleius. The hollow was illuminated by a blinding flash of lightning, and Phryné's musical laughter was drowned in the thunder that boomed and crashed in deepening peals over the hills. In a sudden tropical torrent the rain descended, as Dr. Kassimere entered the room. II Jack Dillon leant from his open window and looked out over the valley to where a dull red glow crowned the hill-top. There was a fire somewhere in the neighbourhood of the distant town; probably a building had been struck by lightning. The storm had passed, although thunder was still audible dimly, like the roll of muffled drums or a remote bombardment. Stillness had reclaimed Hollow Grange. He was restless, uneasy; he sought to collate his impressions of the place and its master. Twelve years had elapsed since his one previous meeting with Dr. Kassimere, and little or no memory of the man had remained. So much had intervened; the war--and Phryné. Now that he was alone and could collect his ideas he knew of what Dr. Kassimere's gaunt, wide-eyed face had reminded him: it was of Thoth, the Ibis-headed god whose figure he had seen on the walls of the temples during his service in Egypt. "Kassimere was always a queer fish, Jack," his father had said; "but most of his eccentricities were due to his passion for study. The Grange is the very place Sir Francis" (the specialist) "would have chosen for your convalescence, and you'll find nothing dangerously exciting in Kassimere's atmosphere!"