he Royal College?"
said Alston. "Didn't you win----?"

"Go--go to Paris and bring me back a libretto!" he exclaimed, assuming a
mock despair.

He did not reckon with Charmian's determination. He had taken it all as
a kind of joke. But when, at the end of the season, he suggested a visit
to Cornwall to see his people, Charmian said:

"You go! And I'll take Susan Fleet as a chaperon and run over to Paris
with Alston Lake."

"What--to find the libretto? But there's no one in Paris in August."

"Leave that to us," she answered with decision.

Claude still felt as if the whole thing were a sort of joke. But he let
his wife go. And she came back with a very clever and powerful libretto,
written by a young Algerian who knew Arab life well, and who had served
for a time with the Foreign Legion. Claude read it carefully, then
studied it minutely. The story interested him. The plot was strong.
There were wonderful opportunities for striking scenic effects. But the
whole thing was entirely "out of his line." And he told Charmian and
Lake so.

"It would need to be as Oriental in the score as _Louise_ is French," he
said. "And what do I know----"

"Go and get it!" interrupted Lake. "Nothing ties you to London. Spend a
couple of years over it, if you like. It would be worth it. And Crayford
says there's going to be a regular 'boom' in Eastern things in a year or
two."

"Now how can he possibly know that?" said Claude.

"My boy, he does know it. Crayford knows everything. He looks ahead, by
Jove! Fools don't know what the people want. Clever men do know what
they want. And Crayfords know what they're going to want."

And now the Heath's boxes were actually packed, and the great case of
scores stood in the hall in Berkeley Square.

As Claude looked at it he felt like one who had burnt his boats.

Ever since he had decided that he would "have a try at opera," as Alston
Lake expressed it, he had been studying orchestration assiduously in
London with a brilliant master. For nearly three months he had given all
his working time to this. His knowledge of orchestration had already
been considerable, even remarkable. But he wanted to be sure of all the
most modern combinations. He had toiled with a pertinacity, a tireless
energy that had astonished his "coach." But the driving force behind him
was not what it had been when he worked alone in the long and dark room,
with the dim oil-paintings and the orange-colored curtains. Th