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"Have it your own way," Lina told him icily. "For my part I would never have imagined the cocottes of San Pablo to be possessed of such irresistible fascinations."

Borek was silent.

"Good night," she said coldly, at length, and turned away.

"Good night, Lina Varsovina."

In exactly two days' time every single member of the ballet with the exception of Lina herself knew that Rosa and Borek were passionately in love with each other. They made, in fact, no attempt to conceal the violent fascination they feit for each other. Their frankness was easy to understand; one was Slav, the other Latin, and neither had fallen in love before. Both, in the terrific heat of San Pablo, were tremendously, abnormally excitable. The sun, that had first delighted them with each other, soon succeeded in tearing from both their last instinct of reserve, and whereas in Paris they would probably have tried to keep their love secret, in San Pablo they were well content to flaunt it before the eyes

of all the world.

But Lina, from whom all that might possibly be supposed to irritate was carefully concealed by obsequious, officious underlings, knew only that Borek avoided her. The ballet had four more days to spend in San Pablo. And each day it seemed that the sun increased in scorching, devilish ferocity, so that perhaps they were none of them completely normal, these men and these women collected haphazard from Paris, and Russia, and Milan, and from other places where cold sane breezes occasionally

blow. . , . , ,

Lina had been dancing The Snow Bird. And she had danced, not with the haunting beauty of her London performance, but sulkily, saving herself, muttering abuse