Far off somewhere in the dark, an unseen musician was gently thrumming a fandango on his Spanish guitar.

She had been on her way home from Careni-Amori's cabin, where she had gained the prima-donna's promise to sing, when she saw him, walking slowly across the "Green." His hands were clasped behind his back, his head was bent.
She experienced a sudden rush of pity for him,--she knew not why, except that he looked lonely and forgotten.

It was she who turned aside from her course and went out across the Green to join him.
"You are most reassuring," she had said.

The dusky light of the moon fell full upon her upturned face; her shadowy, limpid eyes were looking straight into his; enchantment charged the air with its soft and languorous breath,--and yet he looked away! After a moment he spoke.

His voice was steady and,--to her,--almost sardonic.
"The day of the cave-man is past.