ere they were uttered, and would have them remain unspoken, she leant slightly towards him.
"Go home by yourself—with none of them, if they invite you. I don't mean," she added, with a laugh, "because they will knock you down to steal your winnings! They are not so low as that—yet."
The whisper was low and very rapid; surprise was the dominant feeling that it awoke in him, joined with something of a vivid wondering delight—she thought of his welfare!
"Your wish is my law," he answered her. "Do with my life what you will—it is yours."
"No. Not mine. It is a noble trust; never give it rashly."
There was a step beside them.
"A beautiful night, indeed/' said Victor Vane.
"A picture of Gherardo, and a poem of Hafiz! Certainly we never know what stars are till we come to the East."
"Never," said Idalia, turning to him; "and now yon may return to Stamboul by their light. After their poetry come their practical uses. I shall dismiss you all now; I am tired. Good night!"
Lightly as the words were spoken, eagerly as they longed to dispute the dismissal, unscrupulous,
