The Dark Star

Sengoun, still playing, flung over his shoulder: "A Tartar song from the Turcoman. I borrowed it and put new clothes on

it. Nice, isn't it?"

"Enchanting!" replied Neeland, laughing in spite of himself.

Rue Carew, with her snowy shoulders and red-gold hair, came drifting

in, consigning them to their seats with a gesture, and giving them to

understand that she had come to hear the singing.

So Sengoun continued his sketchy, haphazard recital, waving his

cigarette now and then for emphasis, and conversing frequently over

his shoulder while Rue Carew leaned on the piano and gravely watched

his nimble fingers alternately punish and caress the keyboard.

After a little while the Princess Mistchenka came in saying that she

had letters to write. They conversed, however, for nearly an hour

before she rose, and Captain Sengoun gracefully accepted his congé.

"I'll walk with you, if you like," suggested Neeland.

"With pleasure, my dear fellow! The night is beautiful, and I am just

beginning to wake up."

"Ask Marotte to give you a key, then," suggested the Princess, going.

At the foot of the stairs, however, she paused to exchange a few words

with Captain Sengoun in a low voice; and Neeland, returning with his

latchkey, went over to where Rue stood by the lamplit table absently

looking over an evening paper.

As he came up beside her, the girl lifted her beautiful, golden-grey

eyes.

"Are you going out?"

"Yes, I thought I'd walk a bit with Captain Sengoun."

"It's rather a long distance to the Russian Embassy. Besides----" She

hesitated, and he waited. She glanced absently over the paper for a

moment, then, not raising her eyes: "I'm--I--the theft of that box

today--perhaps my nerves have suffered a little--but do you think it

quite prudent for you to go out alone at night?"

"Why, I am going out with Captain Sengoun!" he said, surprised at her

troubled face.

"But you will have to return alone."

He laughed, but they both had flushed a little.

Had it been any other woman in the world, he had not hesitated gaily

to challenge the shy and charming solicitude expressed in his

behalf--make of it his capital, his argument to force that pretty duel

to which one day, all youth is destined.

He found himself now without a word to say, nor daring to entertain

any assumption concerning the words she had uttered.

Dumb, awkward, afraid, he became conscious that something in this

young girl had silenced within him any inclination to gay effrontery,

any talent for casual gallantry. Her lifted eyes, with their clear,

half shy regard, had killed all fluency of tongue in him--slain

utterly that light good-humour with which he had encountered women

heretofore.