She came to the river’s edge and reviewed him from top to toe.  “Now you are built more like a man,” she said, in her lovely, lingering voice.

“You see, the experiment was successful,” he answered, smiling gaily.

Oceaxe continued looking him over.  “Did some woman give you that ridiculous robe?”

“A woman did give it to me”—­dropping his smile—­“but I saw nothing ridiculous in the gift at the time, and I don’t now.”

“I think I’d look better in it.”

As she drawled the words, she began stripping off the skin, which suited her form so well, and motioned to him to exchange garments.  He obeyed, rather shamefacedly, for he realised that the proposed exchange was in fact more appropriate to his sex.  He found the skin a freer dress.  Oceaxe in her drapery appeared more dangerously feminine to him.

“I don’t want you to receive gifts at all from other women,” she remarked slowly.

“Why not?  What can I be to you?”

“I have been thinking about you during the night.”  Her voice was retarded, scornful, viola-like.  She sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looked away.

“In what way?”

She returned no answer to his question, but began to pull off pieces of the bark.

“Last night you were so contemptuous.”

“Last night is not today.  Do you always walk through the world with your head over your shoulder?”

It was now Maskull’s turn to be silent.

“Still, if you have male instincts, as I suppose you have, you can’t go on resisting me forever.”

“But this is preposterous” said Maskull, opening his eyes wide.  “Granted that you are a beautiful woman—­we can’t be quite so primeval.”

Oceaxe sighed, and rose to her feet.  “It doesn’t matter.  I can wait.”

“From that I gather that you intend to make the journey in my society.  I have no objection—­in fact I shall be glad—­but only on condition that you drop this language.”

“Yet you do think me beautiful?”

“Why shouldn’t I think so, if it is the fact?  I fail to see what that has to do with my feelings.  Bring it to an end, Oceaxe.  You will find plenty of men to admire—­and love you.”

At that she blazed up.  “Does love pick and choose, you fool?  Do you imagine I am so hard put to it that I have to hunt for lovers?  Is not Crimtyphon waiting for me at this very moment?”

“Very well.  I am sorry to have hurt your feelings.  Now carry the temptation no farther—­for it is a temptation, where a lovely woman is concerned.  I am not my own master.”

“I’m not proposing anything so very hateful, am I?  Why do you humiliate me so?”

Maskull put his hands behind his back.  “I repeat, I am not my own master.”

“Then who is your master?”

“Yesterday I saw Surtur, and from today I am serving him.”

“Did you speak with him?” she asked curiously.