Generations of careful breeding, mate cautiously selecting mate,
laid the polish of caste upon their hands and faces where gleamed
ridiculous, untaught jewels--rings, bracelets, necklaces hanging
absurdly from every possible angle. "But--they are dressed up--for fun," he exclaimed, more to himself than
to the girl in skins who clung to his shoulders with her naked arms. "_Un_dressed!" she answered, putting her brown hand in play across his
eyes. "Only they have forgotten even that!" And another shiver passed
through her into him. He turned and hid his face against the soft skins
that touched his cheek. He kissed her body. Seizing his horns, she
pressed him to her, laughing happily. "Look!" she whispered, raising her head again; "they're coming out." And he saw that two of them, a man and a girl, with an interchange
of secret glances, had stolen from the room and were already by the
door of the conservatory that led into the garden. It was his wife to
be--and his distinguished cousin. "Oh, Pan!" she cried in mischief. The girl sprang from his arms and
pointed. "We will follow them. We will put natural life into their
little veins!" "Or panic terror," he answered, catching the yellow panther skin and
following her swiftly round the building. He kept in the shadow, though
she ran full into the blaze of moonlight. "But they can't see us,"
she called, looking over her shoulder a moment. "They can only feel
our presence, perhaps." And, as she danced across the lawn, it seemed
a moonbeam slipped from a sapling birch tree that the wind curved
earthwards, then tossed back against the sky. Keeping just ahead, they led the pair, by methods known instinctively
to elemental blood yet not translatable--led them towards the little
grove of waiting pines. The night wind murmured in the branches; a bird
woke into a sudden burst of song. These sounds were plainly audible. But four little pointed ears caught other, wilder notes behind the wind
and music of the bird--the cries and ringing laughter, the leaping
footsteps and the happy singing of their merry kin within the wood. And the throng paused then amid the revels to watch the "civilised"
draw near. They presently reached the trees, halted, looked about them,
hesitated a moment--then, with a hurried movement as of shame and fear
lest they be caught, entered the zone of shadow. "Let's go in here," said the man, without music in his voice. "It's dry
on the pine needles, and we can't be seen." He led the way; she picked
up her skirts and followed over the strip of long wet grass. "Here's a
log all ready for us," he added, sat down, and drew her into his arms
with a sigh of satisfaction. "Sit on my knee; it's warmer for your
pretty figure." He chuckled; evidently they were on familiar terms,
for though she hesitated, pretending to be coy, there was no real
resistance in her, and she allowed the ungraceful roughness. "But are
we _quite_ safe? Are you sure?" she asked between his kisses. "What does it matter, even if we're not?" he replied, establishing her
more securely on his knees. "But, as a matter of fact, we're safer here
than in my own house." He kissed her hungrily. "By Jove, Hermione, but
you're divine," he cried passionately, "divinely beautiful. I love you
with every atom of my being--with my soul." "Yes, dear, I know--I mean, I know you do, but----"

"But what?" he asked impatiently. "Those detectives----"

He laughed. Yet it seemed to annoy him. "My wife is a beast, isn't
she?--to have me watched like that," he said quickly. "They're everywhere," she replied, a sudden hush in her tone. She
looked at the encircling trees a moment, then added bitterly: "I hate
her, simply _hate_ her." "I love you," he cried, crushing her to him, "that's all that matters
now. Don't let's waste time talking about the rest." She contrived to
shudder, and hid her face against his coat, while he showered kisses on
her neck and hair. And the solemn pine trees watched them, the silvery moonlight fell on
their faces, the scent of new-mown hay went floating past. "I love you with my very soul," he repeated with intense conviction. "I'd do anything, give up anything, bear anything--just to give you a
moment's happiness. I swear it--before God!" There was a faint sound among the trees behind them, and the girl sat
up, alert. She would have scrambled to her feet, but that he held her
tight. "What the devil's the matter with you to-night?" he asked in a
different tone, his vexation plainly audible. "You're as nervy as if
_you_ were being watched, instead of me." She paused before she answered, her finger on her lip. Then she said
slowly, hushing her voice a little:

"Watched! That's exactly what I did feel. I've felt it ever since we
came into the wood." "Nonsense, Hermione. It's too many cigarettes." He drew her back into
his arms, forcing her head up so that he could kiss her better. "I suppose it is nonsense," she said, smiling. "It's gone now, anyhow." He began admiring her hair, her dress, her shoes, her pretty ankles,
while she resisted in a way that proved her practice. "It's not _me_
you love," she pouted, yet drinking in his praise. She listened to his
repeated assurances that he loved her with his "soul" and was prepared
for any sacrifice. "I feel so safe with you," she murmured, knowing the moves in the game
as well as he did. She looked up guiltily into his face, and he looked
down with a passion that he thought perhaps was joy. "You'll be married before the summer's out," he said, "and all the
thrill and excitement will be over. Poor Hermione!" She lay back in his
arms, drawing his face down with both hands, and kissing him on the
lips. "You'll have more of him than you can do with--eh? As much as you
care about, anyhow." "I shall be much more free," she whispered. "Things will be easier. And
I've got to marry some one----"

She broke off with another start. There was a sound again behind them. The man heard nothing. The blood in his temples pulsed too loudly,
doubtless. "Well, what is it this time?" he asked sharply. She was peering into the wood, where the patches of dark shadow and
moonlit spaces made odd, irregular patterns in the air. A low branch
waved slightly in the wind. "Did you hear that?" she asked nervously. "Wind," he replied, annoyed that her change of mood disturbed his
pleasure. "But something moved----"

"Only a branch. We're quite alone, quite safe, I tell you," and
there was a rasping sound in his voice as he said it. "Don't be so
imaginative. I can take care of you." She sprang up. The moonlight caught her figure, revealing its exquisite
young curves beneath the smother of the costly clothing. Her hair had
dropped a little in the struggle. The man eyed her eagerly, making a
quick, impatient gesture towards her, then stopped abruptly. He saw the
terror in her eyes. "Oh, hark! What's that?" she whispered in a startled voice. She put her
finger up. "Oh, let's go back. I don't like this wood. I'm frightened."