Dinah clung to her fast for a moment or two, and her hold was passionate.  “Oh, don’t praise me for that!” she whispered into Isabel’s neck.  “I am not good at all.  I am very bad.”

She almost tore herself free a second later, and Isabel, divining that any further demonstration from her would cause a breakdown, bade her a loving good night and went away.

Dinah stood awhile struggling for self-control.  She had been perilously near to baring her soul to Isabel in those moments of tenderness.  Even now the impulse urged her to run after her and tell her of the temptation to which she was yielding.  She forced it down with clenched hands, telling herself over and over that it was her last chance, her last chance, and she must not lose it.  And so at length it passed; and with it passed also the pricks of conscience that had so troubled her.  She emerged from the brief struggle with a sense of mad triumph.  The spirit of adventure had entered into her, and she no longer paused to count the cost.

“I expect I shall be sorry in the morning,” she said to herself.  “But to-night—­oh, to-night—­nothing matters except Apollo!”

She whisked to the door and set it ajar.  The dance-music drew her, drew her, like the voice of a siren.  For that one night she would live again.  She would feel his arm about her and the magic in her brain.  Already her feet yearned to the alluring rhythm.  She leaned against the door-post, and gave herself up to her dream.  Yet once more the wine of the gods was held to her lips.  She would drink deeply, deeply.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE GOLDEN MAZE

Softly the strains of Simple Aveu floated along the corridor.  It came like fairy music, now near, now far, haunting as a dream, woven through and through with the gold of Romance.

Someone was coming along the passage with the easy swing of the born dancer, and pressed against her door-post in the shadows, another born dancer awaited him with a wildly throbbing heart.

The die was cast, and there was no going back.  She heard the deep voice humming the magic melody as he came.  In a moment the superb figure came into sight, moving with that royal ease of carriage so characteristic and so wonderful.

He drew near.  He spied the small white figure lurking in the dimness.  With a low laugh he opened his arms to her.

And then there came to Dinah, not for the first time, a strange, wholly indefinable misgiving.  It was a warning so insistent that she suddenly and swiftly drew back, as if she would flee into the room behind her.

But he was too quick for her.  He caught her on the threshold.  “Oh no, no!” he laughed.  “That’s not playing the game.”  He drew her to him, holding her two wrists.  “Daphne!  Daphne!” he said.  “Still running away?  Do you call that fair?”

She did not resist him, for the moment she felt his touch she knew herself a captive.  The magic force of his personality had caught her; but she did not give herself wholly to him.  She stood and palpitated in his hold, her head bent low.