"Oh, Jim! There are lots of others _much_ more undressed. Besides, one simply has to be historical and accurate or one is taken for an ignoramus. If I’m to to impersonate the Sâkya girl, Yassôdhara, before she became Lord Buddha’s wife, I must wear what she probably wore. Don’t you see?" "Perfectly," he said, laughing. "But you of the artistic and unconventional guilds ought to leave the audacious costumes to your models. But, of course, that’s too much to ask of you." "Indeed it is!" she said gaily. "If some of us think we’re rather nicely made why shouldn’t we dare a little artistically—in the name of beauty and of art? ... Oh, Jim!—it’s the tango they’re beginning. _Will_ you!—with _me_?" They danced the exquisitely graceful measure together, her little golden-sandalled feet flashing noiselessly through the intricate steps, lingering, swaying, gliding faultlessly in unison with his as though part of his own body. The fascinating rhythm of the Argentine music throbbed through the perfumed air; a bright, whispering wilderness of silk and jewels swayed rustling all around them; bare arms and shoulders, brilliant lips and eyes floated through their line of dreary vision; figures like phantoms passed in an endless rosy chain through the lustrous haze of motion. They danced together whatever came; Stephanie, like a child fearful of being abandoned, kept one slim jewelled hand fast hold of his sleeve or girdle when they were not dancing. To one and all who came to argue or present fancied prior claims she turned a deaf ear and laughing lips, listening to no pleading, no claims. She threatened Harry Belter with the flat of her palm, warning him indignantly when he attempted a two-step, by violence; she closed her ears to Badger Spink, who danced with rage in his goat-skins; she waved away Verne in all his Egyptian splendour; she let her grey eyes rest in an insolent stare at two of Belter’s dryads who encircled Cleland’s waist with avowed intent to make him their prisoner and dedicate him to vocal praise of the vine. Then there was a faint clash and flash of iridescence, and the Prince Siddhartha confronted her, golden-eyed, golden-skinned, golden-haired, magnificent in his golden vestments. "Oswald!" she cried. "Oh, I am glad. Jim! You and Oswald will be friends, won’t you? You’re such dears—you simply must like each other!" They shook hands, looking with curious intentness at each other. "I’ve always liked you, Cleland," said Grismer gracefully. "I don’t think you ever cared for me very much, but I wish you might." "I have found you—agreeable, Grismer. We were friendly at school and college together——" "I hope our friendliness may continue." "I—hope so." Grismer smiled: "Drop in whenever you care to, Cleland, and talk things over. We’ve a lot to say to each other, I think." "Thanks." ... He looked hard at Grismer. "All right; I’ll do it." Grismer nodded: