Aglipogue always maintained that the war had ruined his career. He had an opera engagement in Germany in 1914, and when the war came he could not go to fill it. So he had remained in the States, and his amazing versatility had enabled him to earn a living as an artist. Now the end of the war had opened new opportunities and he was going to South America in concert work. Ruth had never quite believed his boasting. She did not think that any man’s work could be bigger than himself—that any artist could express something bigger than that contained in his own soul; and the soul of Prince Aglipogue was a weak, cowardly, hateful thing. Yet his voice moved her, attracted and repelled, cast a spell over her, exotic, fascinating, yet sinister as if the music were only a prelude to the wicked necromancy of the Hindoo that was to follow. The voice ceased, and Prince Aglipogue, alone of all the company unmoved by his own voice, resumed his place at Gloria’s side. For a brief breathing minute no one moved. John Peyton-Russell seemed to have forgotten his cue. Then he rose and told them that the real surprise was to come, an exhibition of magic by Karkotaka, a famous Indian Mahatma. It was the first time that Ruth had ever heard George’s Hindoo name and she suspected that it was no more his real name than was George. She thought she remembered an Indian story in which a certain Karkotaka figured as king of the serpents, a sort of demi-god. All eyes were on the dark curtain now, but if they expected it to rise or to be drawn aside they were disappointed. Instead, it parted silently and Karkotaka, George, glided through, dressed not in the costume of a Brahman, but of a mediæval prince of India. Instead of a turban he wore a high jewelled headdress. A single piece of cloth, dark blue in colour and gemmed with small gold stars, was draped about him, leaving one arm and shoulder bare, and descending to his feet, which were encased in jewelled sandals. Even Ruth, who had expected something extraordinary, gasped as he stood bowing before them. The dignity that had shown even through his servant’s dress was now one hundred times more apparent. He moved with a lithe grace as became the king of the serpents, slowly moving his bare bronze arms until it seemed to Ruth they coiled and writhed like living snakes. Under his headdress his eyes gleamed more brightly than the jewels above.