The cuirassed dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the inner half-circle was another glittering board, an oval. But of those seated there, facing us⁠—I had eyes for only one⁠—Yolara! She swayed up to greet O’Keefe⁠—and she was like one of those white lily maids, whose beauty Hoang-Ku, the sage, says made the Gobi first a paradise, and whose lusts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out hands to Larry, and on her face was passion⁠—unashamed, unhiding.

She was Circe⁠—but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk hair a threaded circlet of pale sapphires shone; but they were pale beside Yolara’s eyes. O’Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere admiration flaming from him. She saw⁠—and, smiling, drew him down beside her.

It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O’Keefe, were in white⁠—and I wondered; then with a tightening of nerves ceased to wonder as there entered⁠—Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he strode forward a silence fell a tense, strained silence.