Then he opened the sitting-room door and went in. And found his wife entirely alone. She looked up at him, her lips still parted as though checked in what she had been saying, the smile still visible in her blue eyes. “Who on earth are you talking to?” he asked, his bewildered glance sweeping the sunny room again. She did not reply; her smile faded as a spot of sunlight wanes, veiled by a cloud—yet a glimmer of it remained in her gaze as he came over to her. “I thought they’d brought our breakfast,” he said, “—hearing your voice.... Did you sleep well?” “Yes, Victor.” He seated himself, and his perplexed scrutiny included her frail morning robe of China silk, her lovely bare arms, and her splendid hair twisted up and pegged down with a jade dagger. Around her bare throat and shoulders, too, was a magnificent necklace of imperial jade which he had never before seen; and on one slim, white finger a superb jade ring. “By Jove!” he said, “you’re very exotic this morning, Tressa. I never before saw that negligee effect.” The girl laughed, glanced at her ring, lifted a frail silken fold and examined the amazing embroidery. “I wore it at the Lake of the Ghosts,” she said. The name of that place always chilled him. He had begun to hate it, perhaps because of all that he did not know about it—about his wife’s strange girlhood—about Yian and the devil’s Temple there—and about Sanang. He said coldly but politely that the robe was unusual and the jade very wonderful. The alteration in his voice and expression did not escape her. It meant merely masculine jealousy, but Tressa never dreamed he cared in that way. Breakfast was brought, served; and presently these two young people were busy with their melons, coffee, and toast in the sunny room high above the softened racket of traffic echoing through avenue and street below. “Recklow telephoned me this morning,” he remarked. She looked up, her face serious. “Recklow says that Yezidee mischief is taking visible shape. The Socialist Party is going to be split into bits and a new party, impudently and publicly announcing itself as the Communist Party of America, is being organised. Did you ever hear of anything as shameless—as outrageous—in this Republic?” She said very quietly: “Sanang has taken prisoner the minds of these wretched people. He and his remaining Yezidees are giving battle to the unarmed minds of our American people.” “Gutchlug is dead,” said Cleves, “—and Yarghouz and Djamouk, and Yaddin.” “But Tiyang Khan is alive, and Togrul, and that cunning demon Arrak Sou-Sou, called The Squirrel,” she said. She bent her head, considering the jade ring on her finger. “—And Prince Sanang,” she added in a low voice. “Why didn’t you let me shoot him when I had the chance?” said Cleves harshly. So abrupt was his question, so rough his sudden manner, that the girl looked up in dismayed surprise. Then a deep colour stained her face.