other stranger. Once
Khalid, who would not leave anything unprobed, insisted, importuned;
he could not see any reason for her conduct. Why should they not work
together in Tiptology, as in Physiology and Metaphysics? And one
morning, dervish-like, he wraps himself in his _aba_, and, calling
upon Allah to witness, takes a rose from the vase on the table,
angrily plucks its petals, and strews them on the carpet. Which
portentous sign the Medium understands and hastens to minister her
palliatives.

"No, Child, you shall not go," she begs and supplicates; "listen to
me, are we not together all the time? Why not leave me alone then with
the spirits? One day you shall know all, believe me. Come, sit here,"
stroking her palm on her lap, "and listen. I shall give up this
tiptology business very soon; you and I shall overturn the table. Yes,
Child, I am on the point of succumbing under an awful something. So,
don't ask me about the spooks any more. Promise not to torment me thus
any more. And one day we shall travel together in the Orient; we shall
visit the ruins of vanished kingdoms and creeds. Ah, to be in Palmyra
with you! Do you know, Child, I am destined to be a Beduin queen. The
throne of Zenobia is mine, and yours too, if you will be good. We
shall resuscitate the glory of the kingdom of the desert."

To all of which Khalid acquiesces by referring as is his wont to the
infinite wisdom of Allah, in whose all-seeing eye nothing is
impossible.

And thus, apparently satisfied, he takes the cigarette which she had
lighted for him, and lights for her another from his own. But the
smoke of two cigarettes dispels not the threatening cloud; it only
conceals it from view. For they dine together at a Bohemian Club that
evening, where Khalid meets a woman of rare charms. And she invites
him to her studio. The Medium, who is at first indifferent, finally
warns her callow child. "That woman is a writer," she explains, "and
writers are always in search of what they call 'copy.' She in
particular is a huntress of male curiosities, _originales_, whom she
takes into her favour and ultimately surrenders them to the reading
public. So be careful." But Khalid hearkens not. For the writer, whom
he afterwards calls a flighter, since she, too, "like the van of the
brewer only skims the surface of things," is, in fact, younger than
the Medium. Ay, this woman is even beautiful--to behold, at least. So
the Dervish, a captive of her charms, kn