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ng the lovers' path we were treading； and making sharp contrasts of ink and silver down in the river…bed；I spoke。
〃Sylvia；〃 I said； plagiarising a dream which will be found in Chapter IV。；〃Sylvia； I have sought you through the world and found you at last； and with your gracious permission； having found you； I mean to stick to you。〃
〃What do you mean； silly boy？〃 she said； as an irregularity in the road threw her soft weight the more fondly upon my arm。
〃I mean； dear； that I want you to be my wife。〃
〃Your wife？ Not for worlds！no； forgive me； I didn't mean that。 You're an awful dear boy； and I like you very much； and I think you're rather fond of me； but well； the truth is； I was never meant to be married； and don't care about itand when you think of it； why should I？〃
〃You mean；〃 I said； 〃that you are fortunate in living in a society where； as in heaven； there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage； where in fact nobody minds whether you're married or not； and where morals are very properly regarded as a personal and private matter〃
〃Yes； that's what I mean；〃 said Sylvia； 〃the people I care aboutdear good peoplewill think no more of me for having a wedding…ring； and no less for my being without； and why should one put a yoke round one's neck when nobody expects it？ A wedding…ring is like a top…hat；you only wear it when you mustBut it's very sweet of you； all the same； and you can kiss me if you like。 Here's a nice sentimental patch of moonlight。〃
I really felt very dejected at this not of course entirely unexpected rejection；if one might use the word for a situation on which had just been set the seal of so unmistakable a kiss； but the vision in my heart seemed to smile at me in high and happy triumph。 To have won Sylvia would have been to have lost her。 My ideal had； as it were； held her breath till Sylvia answered； now she breathed again。
〃At all events； we can go on being chums； can't we？〃 I said。
For answer Sylvia hummed the first verse of that famous song writ by Kit Marlowe。
〃Yes！〃 she said presently。 〃I will sing for you； dance for you； andperhapsflirt with you； but marry youno！ it's best not； for both of us。〃
〃Well； then；〃 I said； 〃dance for me！ You owe me some amends for an aching heart。〃 As I said this； the path suddenly broadened into a little circular glade into which the moonlight poured in a silver flood。 In the centre of the space was a boulder some three or four feet high； and with a flat slab…like surface of some six feet or so。
〃I declare I will；〃 said Sylvia； giving me an impulsive kiss； and springing on to the stone； 〃why； here is a ready…made stage。〃
〃And there；〃 I said； 〃are the nightingale and the nightjar for orchestra。〃
〃And there is the moon；〃 said she； 〃for lime…light man。〃
〃Yes；〃 I said； 〃and here is a handful of glow…worms for the footlights。〃
Then lifting up her heavy silk skirt about her； and revealing a paradise of chiffons； Sylvia swayed for a moment with her face full in the moon； and then slowly glided into the movements of a mystical dance。
It was thus the fountains were dancing to the moon in Arabia； it was thus the Nixies shook their white limbs on the haunted banks of the Rhine； it was thus the fairy women flashed their alabaster feet on the fairy hills of Connemara； it was thus the Houris were dancing for Mahomet on the palace floors of Paradise。
〃It was over such dancing；〃 I said； 〃that John the Baptist lost his head。〃
〃Give me a kiss；〃 she said； nestling exhausted in my arms。 〃I always want some one to kiss when I have danced with my soul as well as my body。〃
〃I think we always do；〃 I said； 〃when we've done anything that seems wonderful； that gives us the thrill of really doing〃
〃And a poor excuse is better than none； isn't it； dear？〃 said Sylvia； her face full in the cataract of the moonlight。
As a conclusion for this chapter I will copy out a little song which I extemporised for Sylvia on our way home to Yellowsands too artlessly happy； it will be observed； to rhyme correctly：
Sylvia's dancing 'neath the moon； Like a star in water； Sylvia's dancing to a tune Fairy folk have taught her。
Glow…worms light her little feet In her fairy theatre； Oh； but Sylvia is sweet！ Tell me who is sweeter！
CHAPTER XII
AT THE CAFE DE LA PAIX
As love…making in which we have no share is apt to be either tantalising or monotonous； I propose to skip the next fortnight and introduce myself to the reader at a moment when I am once more alone。 It is about six o'clock on a summer afternoon； I am in Paris； and seated at one of the little marble tables of the Cafe de la Paix； dreamily watching the glittering tide of gay folk passing by；
〃All happy people on their way To make a golden end of day。〃
Meditatively I smoke a cigarette and sip a pale greenish liquor smelling strongly of aniseed； which isn't half so interesting as a commonplace whiskey and soda； but which； I am told； has the recommendation of being ten times as wicked。 I sip it with a delicious thrill of degeneration； as though I were Eve tasting the apple for the first time；for 〃such a power hath white simplicity。〃 Sin is for the innocent；a truth which sinners will be the first to regret。 It was so； I said to myself； Alfred de Musset used to sit and sip his absinthe before a fascinated world。 It is a privilege for the world to look on greatness at any moment； even when it is drinking。 So I sat； and privileged the world。
It will readily be surmised from this exordium thatincredible as it may seem in a man of thirtythis was my first visit to Paris。 You may remember that I had bought Orlando's tickets； and it had occurred to Sylvia and me to use them。 Sylvia was due in London to fulfil a dancing engagement within a fortnight after our arrival； so after a tender good…bye； which there was no earthly necessity to make final； I had remained behind for the purposes of study。 Though； logically； my pilgrimage had ended with the unexpected discovery of Sylvia Joy； yet there were two famous feminine types of which； seeing that I was in Paris； I thought I might as well make brief studies； before I returned to London and finally resumed the bachelorhood from which I had started。 These were the grisette of fiction and the American girl of fact。 Pending these investigations； I meditated on the great city in the midst of which I sat。
A city！ How much more it was than that！ Was it not the most portentous symbol of modern history？ Think what the word 〃Paris〃 means to the emancipated intellect； to the political government； to the humanised morals； of the world； not to speak of the romance of its literature； the tradition of its manners； and the immortal fame of its women。 France is the brain of the world； as England is its heart； and Russia its fist。 Strange is the power； strange are the freaks and revenges； of association； particularly perhaps of literary association。 Here pompous official representatives may demur； but who can doubt that it is on its literature that a country must rely for its permanent representation？ The countries that are forgotten； or are of no importance in the councils of the world； are countries wi