Whereat Quivven shrugged her pretty golden shoulders, and replied, “Why deceive you? Though you are so stupid that it is very easy. Who brought you the note from Arkilu the night of your arrival here?” “You did,” Cabot answered. “Why didn’t I put two and two together before? Then you are connected in some way with Arkilu?” She laughed contemptuously. “How did you guess it?” she taunted. “Yes, one would rather say I am connected in some way with Arkilu; for I am her sister, set here to spy on you by connivance with the chief woman of Jud’s servants, who is an old nurse of ours. I am Quivven the Golden Flame, daughter of Theoph the Grim, and it is from _me_ that he learned of your mystic abilities. What do you think of _that_, beast?” “I think,” Myles said noncommittally, “that although you truly are a golden flame, you ought to have been named ‘Quivven the Pepper Pot’.” Whereat she suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the room. “Funny girl,” Myles commented to himself, as he laid aside the list prepared for his prospecting trip, and set about the concoction of some stage properties for his forthcoming command performance before the King. It was a sulky Quivven who served his meal that evening, so much so that Cabot playfully accused her of putting poison in his stew. This did not render her any more gracious, however. “If I did not love my sister very much,” she asserted, “I would not stand for you for one moment.” The rest of the meal was eaten in silence during which Cabot had an idea. So when the food had been cleared away he asked the aureate maiden, “Can you smuggle a note to your sister for me?” “Yes,” she assented gloomily, “and I shall tell her how you are treating me.” At which he could not refrain from remarking, “Do you know, Quivven, I believe that you are falling in love with me.” “You beast!” she cried at him. “Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” And she turned her face to the wall. “Come, come!” said Cabot soothingly. “I don’t mean to tease you, and we must both think of your sister. The note. How long will it take you to deliver it and return?” “Shall I hurry?” she asked guardedly. “Yes.” “Then it will take me less than one-twelfth of a day.” That would be quite sufficient for his plans. Accordingly he wrote: Arkilu The Beautiful: Send word how I can see you after the performance. But beware of Jud. Cabot The Magician. This note he folded up, placed it in the palm of Quivven, and closed her golden fingers over it. Whereat she sprang back with, “Don’t you dare touch me like that!” and rushed out of the house, sobbing angrily. Really, he must be more careful with this delicate creature; for although her intense hatred furnished him considerable amusement, yet it was possible to go too far. He must at least be polite to the sister of his benefactress.