While the others were rapidly drinking themselves into a drunken stupor, Jotan sat as one apart, head bowed in thought. He found it impossible to dismiss the impression given him by the half-naked girl of the caves. She was so different from the usual girl with whom he came in contact—more vital, more alive. There was nothing fragile or clinging about her. He could not help but compare that fine, healthy, well-rounded figure with the pallid, artificial women of his acquaintance. Her clean sparkling eyes, clear tanned skin and graceful posture made those others seem dull and uninviting.
"Jotan!"
The visitor came back to his surroundings with a start.
Urim, his round face flushed from much wine, had called his name.
"Come, man," he laughed, "of what do you dream? A girl in far-off Ammad, perhaps?"
Jotan reddened, but replied calmly enough, "No, my king; no flower of Ammad holds my heart."
The faint stress he placed on the name of his own country passed unnoticed by all except Alurna.
"'Of Ammad,' you say, Jotan," she cut in. "Perhaps so soon you have found love here in Sephar."
The remark struck too close to home for the man's comfort.
"You read strange meanings in my words, my princess," he said evasively; then suddenly he thrust back his bench and arose.