THE EQUINOX
Twenty-one minutes past one o’clock—the day was marching
towards its first duality. The door opened behind him, and
the creaking wood caused him to jump up. The daughter
of his host stood in her night-garments, a poem in pale green
and white.
She said nothing; and he imitated the wisdom of her
silence. His heart began a wild, unhealthy fandango; his
temples ached; his legs shook under him. He felt himself
paling; strange impulses prompted him to a return to ances-
tral savagery. Alas, he sadly lacked experience.
However, the woman had burned her vessels, and meant
to help him.
“Lionel,” she said, “I have come.”
“T see,” he managed to answer hoarsely, but the words in
his throat seemed to feel like two huge hard lumps.
“Kiss me!”
Instinctively he stepped towards her and opened his arms.
She fell heavily within their embrace. She hugged herself
close against his breast and nestled on him, her eyes half-
closed, her tongue and teeth searching blindly and savagely
for his lips.
Contrary to his expectations, and more according to some
of his past sensations and fears, Lionel Tabard felt more un-
easiness than joy, more pain than pleasure. He congratulated
himself upon the fact that the cool night had caused him to
dress warmly, and that he had not trusted his body to the
protection of the garment to which he owed his surname. As
it was, the fierce Mzenad was overcome by her passion ere she
could have made him take a share in it.
Nevertheless, Woman often wins through sheer obstinacy,
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