"I'll do," said Clarice, calmly, "thank you," as Zara opened another letter. "What's the matter?" for the dancer suddenly started. Zara sent so swift and keen a glance in her direction that Clarice fancied that her disguise had been penetrated. But the fear was groundless, for Zara again laughed. "I'm amused at the side you are putting on," she said, calmly, and replacing the letter in its envelope. "You asked me to let you go, and when I refused you cut up rough. Now you are trying to make me think that you love me." "You are certainly very pretty," said Clarice, wondering what to say to this bold, frank creature, who concealed her feelings so little. "You thought so once," said Zara, rising and coming to the sofa. "I am pretty still, only you have no eyes to see. Look"--she twitched the large red silk shade from the lamp, and the blaze of white light shone brilliantly upon her beauty--"am I not prettier than that black-browed minx, Prudence Clarke?" "Don't say a word against Prudence." "I'll say twenty if I choose," said Zara, throwing herself on the sofa beside Clarice, and taking her hand. "Don't get me into a rage, dear boy. You loved me once, and so deeply that you said my name was written on your heart. It certainly was tattooed on your right arm, just above the wrist"--she rapidly drew up Clarice's shirt-cuff before the girl could stop her. "I see the name isn't there now," said Zara, jeeringly. "You have obliterated it from your arm, as you have driven it from your heart, my dear." Clarice was startled by this development. "You don't understand," she stammered. "Oh, yes, I do--Miss Clarice Baird," cried Zara, rising. "I understand that Ferdy is at Gattlinsands, and that you--are--here!" CHAPTER XX PROOF POSITIVE In that little room, with its vivid colouring and heavy scented atmosphere, the two women faced each other, bent upon battle. At the outset, the advantage lay with Zara, seeing how she had penetrated the disguise of the devoted sister. For one moment the dancer eyed the pale and startled face of her visitor, and then crossed to a bronze tripod of classic shape and beauty, wherein smouldered a pastille. While lighting another one, she threw a careless glance over her shoulder. "Well," she said, quietly, "have you nothing to say?" Clarice, now on her feet, looked at the gaudy comfort of the tiny room, at the Oriental draperies and ornaments, at the Persian praying mats, at herself in the glass, tall, slim, and boyish, in her masculine attire, and then her gaze came back to the graceful woman in the maize-hued tea-gown. Zara met her gaze with insolence, and a smile curved the red beauty of her full lips. "Have you nothing to say?" she repeated, and the question sounded like a challenge. "A great deal," retorted Clarice, nerving herself for the battle; "in spite of this dress I am a woman, and therefore can use my tongue."