On and on she danced and Hayden, watching, dreamed dreams and saw visions. She was the Mariposa floating over a field of flowers, scarlet and white poppies, opening and closing its gorgeous wings in the hot sunshine; she was a snow‑flake whirled from the heart of a winter storm; she was an orchid swaying in the breeze; she was a thistledown drifting through the grasses.
Then, at the height of her spells she stopped and laughingly cast herself into a chair.
"Oh!" Kitty was breathless with admiration. "Oh, why, why, when you can dance like that, do you tell fortunes?"
"There's a reason," Ydo quoted, with a little toss of her head toward Hayden. "That is exactly the answer I made your cousin once before. And, oh, señor, apropos of that reason, I have a conference arranged for you to‑morrow afternoon at four o'clock at my apartment. I almost forgot to tell you. I meant to have telephoned."
Hayden's face flushed with pleasure. "Really?" he cried. "You really have the people together. Oh," with a long sigh, "it is good news. Suspense does wear on me, señorita." He spoke half humorously, but with an underlying seriousness.
"It will soon be over," encouraged Ydo. "Then, until Tuesday night, ten days hence, au revoir, madame; and until to‑morrow at four o'clock, au revoir, señor. Good luck for ever be on this house! In it I have forgotten temporarily my wanderlust. Good‑by."
CHAPTER XII
With his heart high with hope, Hayden lost no time in taking his way to Ydo's apartment the next afternoon. It was Sunday, a day on which she received no clients, and the maid showed him into neither the consulting‑ nor reception‑rooms, but in a small library beyond them which was evidently a part of her private suite.