strangely with the delicate pink flush of her cheeks. Self possessed, calm and regal she looked as she graciously acknowledged the plaudits of the guests. “Who is she, Alan?” asked Mavis. But he was unconscious of her question, he could only gaze and gaze at the beautiful apparition who had come so unexpectedly upon the scene. Waiko bent in turn before the stranger who whispered something to him. Immediately he came toward Mavis. “We are honoured to-night,” said he. “The Ipso-Rorka Chlorie has journeyed from Pyrmo to welcome you. She heard of your presence and came at once.” “Who is she?” asked Mavis. “Why the highest lady in the land—the only child of our Rorka.” Mavis went toward where the girl stood, and the Ipso-Rorka held out both her hands to the English girl. “Welcome,” said she, in a voice musical and low. “I hear you start soon to honour the Rorka, my father, with a visit. May I welcome you first?” In turn the others were presented to her, but her attention was all for Mavis—it was Mavis the woman she wanted to know. And Alan? He had seen his ideal! Years before, he wondered whether he would ever meet her—and now he had. And a King’s daughter! And he a stranger in a strange world! How dare he even lift his eyes toward her. Yet he dared—and his pulses leapt madly as his eyes feasted on her beauty. Not once did she address him—not once did she even seem to notice him. Chlorie put her hand lightly on Desmond’s arm. “I will dance with you,” said she smiling, and Alan watched them lead the merry throng of dancing couples. The demon of jealousy, earth jealousy, was in his heart. “Why are you looking so—how can I put it—so sad?” asked Kulmervan. Alan laughed. “He has a wife,” he muttered. “Why does he take her from others?” “But she has honoured him. It is not for us to choose for the Ipso-Rorka,” said Kulmervan. “Yes, but she is so beautiful, so sweet, so glorious,” began Alan. Then he stopped suddenly. “Oh,” he continued, “what do you people of Jupiter know of love or hate? Your lives are too quiet, too humdrum to know aught of passion—” “Teach me! Teach me!” cried Kulmervan leaning toward him. “Your face is drawn—your eye hard. Yet you look as if you could battle with the world. What is it?” “Love and hate,” said Alan grimly. Then he laughed. “What a fool I am. Desmond is my cousin; we love each other like brothers. He has won Mavis—why should he not dance with the Ipso-Rorka? Mavis does not mind.” But Kulmervan turned away in silence. Knowledge had come to him in a curious way. He saw passion, love, hatred, anger, jealousy all raging within a human heart. Unconsciously the feelings were photographed upon his too sensitive mind. Love that had only smouldered was now born in all its fury for the Princess Chlorie, the fair. And with love was born the twin, hate—hate for Alan, the man he feared might supplant him.