Kyphallos laughed. His eyes were blazing. He caught up a goblet of wine and rose. "Hail Adita, goddess of womanly beauty," he exclaimed. "Now, are you perfect as you stand revealed, stripped of the silly trappings which concealed the greater charms beneath. Flowers are things of beauty in their place, but—woman unadorned is the fairest flower of life. Arise, my friends, and drink with me to woman as she is, this new Adita I have found!"
They rose at Jadgor's sign, though Croft caught more than one glance of question passing among the guests.
So much he saw and turned back to Naia who had risen, too, her face a mask of outraged dignity and scorn.
Kyphallos lifted his goblet and set it to his lips.
Naia lifted hers and cast it from her so that its contents spilled and flowed across the table at the dancer's feet.
"Thou beast!" her voice came in tones of sharp displeasure. "Thou sensuous offspring of Cathur! 'Tis thus I drink your toast!"
Silence came down—a breathless pause about the tables.
Kyphallos lowered his cup and turned toward the Princess of Aphur slowly.
And suddenly the Cathurian smiled. He replaced his goblet on the table and sank to one knee before the haughty daughter of his host. "By Zitu!" his voice rang out; "but you are truly royal. You are magnificent, daughter of Aphur. Did I pick me a lesser toy, 'twas but that I knew you for what you are—one fit to be a queen. Naia of Aphur, wilt pledge yourself queen of Cathur's throne?"
The words were out. Croft felt his senses sink. Yet even so he saw the whole psychology of the event. To Cathur, the maiden offered, had seemed but an easy prize—to take at his pleasure, if at all. To Cathur drunk the dancer had appealed. To Cathur still drunk Naia of Aphur, offended, angered, hurling her scorn in his teeth, appeared suddenly not a thing to be taken lightly, but a beautiful consort to be won if taken at all.