Tony shook her head.

“I am afraid there was nothing heavenly about it.  But it was wonderful.  I forgive you your boasting.  You are the best dancer in the world.  I am sure of it.”

“And you will dance with me again and again, my wonder-girl.  You must.  You want to.”

“I want to,” admitted Tony.  “But I am not going to—­at least not again to-night.  Take me to a seat.”

He did so and she sank down with a fluttering sigh beside Miss Lottie Cressy, Carlotta’s aunt.  The latter stared at her, a little oddly she thought, and then looked up at Alan Massey.

“You don’t change, do you, Alan?” observed Miss Cressy.

“Oh yes, I change a great deal.  I have been very different ever since I met Miss Tony.”  His eyes fell on the girl, made no secret of his emotions concerning her and her beauty.

Miss Cressy laughed a little sardonically.

“No doubt.  You were always different after each new sweetheart, I recall.  So were they—­some of them.”

“You do me too much honor,” he retorted suavely.  “Shall we not go out, Miss Holiday?  The garden is very beautiful by moonlight.”

She bowed assent, and together they passed out of the room through the French window.  Miss Cressy stared after them, the bitter little smile still lingering on her lips.

“Youth for Alan always,” she said to herself.  “Ah, well, I was young, too, those days in Paris.  I must tell Carlotta to warn Tony.  It would be a pity for the child to be tarnished so soon by touching his kind too close.  She is so young and so lovely.”

Alan and Tony strayed to a remote corner of the spacious gardens and came to a pause beside the fountain which leaped and splashed and caught the moonlight in its falling splendor.  For a moment neither spoke.  Tony bent to dip her fingers in the cool water.  She had an odd feeling of needing lustration from something.  The man’s eyes were upon her.  She was very young, very lovely, as Miss Cressy had said.  There was something strangely moving to Alan Massey about her virginal freshness, her moonshine beauty.  He was unaccustomed to compunction, but for a fleeting second, as he studied Tony Holiday standing there with bowed head, laving her hands in the sparkling purity of the water, he had an impulse to go away and leave her, lest he cast a shadow upon her by his lingering near her.

It was only for a moment.  He was far too selfish to follow the brief urge to renunciation.  The girl stirred his passion too deeply, roused his will to conquer too irresistibly to permit him to forego the privilege of the place and hour.

She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, once more the master-lover.

“I was right, was I not, Toinetta mia?  I did make you a little bit mine, did I not?  Be honest.  Tell me.”  He laid a hand on each of her bare white shoulders, looked deep, deep into her brown eyes as if he would read secret things in their depths.