Behind the _shikiri_, a weird, malevolent clamor was shouting through Ware's brain. He stood alone with his temptation. What had he to do with Daunt, or with her belief in him? She had accepted his own advances, beckoned him half around the world--for what? To discard him for this man whom she had known but a handful of days! Chance had arranged this _mise en scène_. Was he to tell her the truth--and lose her? The key to the situation was in his hand. He had only to keep silence! At that moment he felt crumble down in some crude gulf within the fabric of his self-esteem--the high-built structure of years. Something colder, formless and malignant, came to sit on its riven foundations. A savage elation grew in him. Suddenly a _shikiri_ was flung aside. Haru stood there, her face deathly pale, her hands wrenching and tearing at her sleeves. She laughed, a high, gasping, unnatural treble. "So-o-o, _Ojo-San_! You come make visiting--_né_? The shrill voice rang through the silent room. "My new house now, an' mos' bes' master. No more Christian! My bad--oh, ve-ree bad Japan girl!" With another peal of laughter she pointed to the knot of her _obi_. It was tied in front. Barbara ran down the garden path as if pursued. She stepped into the carriage blindly. The _Fox-Woman_! Votary of the Fox-God, at whose candle-lighted shrine she had refused tribute! This, then, was the end. It came to her like the striking of a great bell. To-morrow the streets would lie as vivid in the sunlight, the buglers would march as blithely, the bent pines would wave, the lotos-pads in the moat glisten, the gorgeous _geisha_ flash by: she alone would know that the sun had died in the blue heaven! "Home, Taka," she said, and leaned back and closed her eyes. * * * * * Behind her Haru's laughter had broken suddenly. She rushed into the little sleeping-room and threw herself on the _tatamé_ before the tiny image of Kwan-on, in a wild burst of sobbing. Ware opened the _shikiri_ softly, and with noiseless step, passed out of the house. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE LADY OF THE MANY-COLORED FIRES The spacious residence of the Minister of Marine that night was a maze of light. All social Tokyo would be at the ball in honor of the Admiral and officers of the visiting Squadron. It was late when Daunt turned his steps thither through the fragrant evening. The deciphering of a voluminous telegram had kept him at the Chancery till eleven.