For answer Sylvia hummed the first verse of that famous song writ by Kit Marlowe. "Yes!" she said presently. "I will sing for you, dance for you, and--perhaps--flirt with you; but marry you--no! it's best not, for both of us." "Well, then," I said, "dance for me! You owe me some amends for an aching heart." As I said this, the path suddenly broadened into a little circular glade into which the moonlight poured in a silver flood. In the centre of the space was a boulder some three or four feet high, and with a flat slab-like surface of some six feet or so. "I declare I will," said Sylvia, giving me an impulsive kiss, and springing on to the stone; "why, here is a ready-made stage." "And there," I said, "are the nightingale and the nightjar for orchestra." "And there is the moon," said she, "for lime-light man." "Yes," I said; "and here is a handful of glow-worms for the footlights." Then lifting up her heavy silk skirt about her, and revealing a paradise of chiffons, Sylvia swayed for a moment with her face full in the moon, and then slowly glided into the movements of a mystical dance. It was thus the fountains were dancing to the moon in Arabia; it was thus the Nixies shook their white limbs on the haunted banks of the Rhine; it was thus the fairy women flashed their alabaster feet on the fairy hills of Connemara; it was thus the Houris were dancing for Mahomet on the palace floors of Paradise. "It was over such dancing," I said, "that John the Baptist lost his head." "Give me a kiss," she said, nestling exhausted in my arms. "I always want some one to kiss when I have danced with my soul as well as my body." "I think we always do," I said, "when we've done anything that seems wonderful, that gives us the thrill of really doing--" "And a poor excuse is better than none, isn't it, dear?" said Sylvia, her face full in the cataract of the moonlight. As a conclusion for this chapter I will copy out a little song which I extemporised for Sylvia on our way home to Yellowsands--too artlessly happy, it will be observed, to rhyme correctly:-- Sylvia's dancing 'neath the moon, Like a star in water; Sylvia's dancing to a tune Fairy folk have taught her. Glow-worms light her little feet In her fairy theatre; Oh, but Sylvia is sweet! Tell me who is sweeter! CHAPTER XII AT THE CAFE DE LA PAIX As love-making in which we have no share is apt to be either tantalising or monotonous, I propose to skip the next fortnight and introduce myself to the reader at a moment when I am once more alone. It is about six o'clock on a summer afternoon, I am in Paris, and seated at one of the little marble tables of the Cafe de la Paix, dreamily watching the glittering tide of gay folk passing by,-- "All happy people on their way To make a golden end of day."