"Honest, honest eyes," said I--"eyes that never deceive, and
never were deceived."
"All this in spite of what you do not know," she answered. For
an instant a look elfish and childlike came into her eyes, and she
drew back from me, stood in the middle of the floor, and caught
her skirts in her fingers.
"See," she said, "is there no deceit here?"
Then she began to dance softly, her feet seeming hardly to touch the
ground, her body swaying like a tall flower in the wind, her face
all light and fire. I was charmed, fascinated. I felt my sleepy
blood stirring to the delicate rise and fall of her bosom, the light
of her eyes flashing a dozen colours. There was scarce a sound her
steps could not be heard across the room.
All at once she broke off from this, and stood still.
"Did my eyes seem all honest then?" she asked, with a strange,
wistful expression. Then she came to the couch where I was.
"Robert," said she, "can you, do you trust me, even when you see
me at such witchery?"
"I trust you always," answered I. "Such witcheries are no evils
that I can see."
She put her finger upon my lips, with a kind of bashfulness.
"Hush, till I tell you where and when I danced like that, and then,
and then--"
She settled down in a low chair.
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