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 was the thought,—what was she doing there? What was her line or her lay? If she were merely a guest of this ball, whose guest was she?

Naturally, at a masque—and most naturally at that masque—people dispensed with introductions. She was Cleopatra and no one gave her a modern name; as Cleopatra she lacked a Cæsar, though many were present. She lacked even an Anthony; a Magellanic mariner seemed to be her rallying point. I don't know why I called the gentleman Magellan; if he'd been huskier I'd have called him Columbus. Somehow I've always imagined Magellan quick and slight and more given to liquor than Columbus. This mariner was; given to liquor, I mean. Cleopatra bothered about him for a time and then blithely abandoned him, much to my benefit.

"What shall I call you?" she asked me. So far, we had got on without names.

"Erasmus," I said, to try her as much as anything.

To my amazement, she knew the old boy. "Holbein would be thrilled by you." And, as she danced with my arm about her, I could feel that she was sizing me up anew. I had said