yes stopped her as she was going to
say--"make love to you."

"And so you gave your libretto up to our enemy to read, and now they are
trying to bribe Gillier to ruin us. Why are we here? Why did I give up
everything, my whole life, my mother, my friends, our little house,
everything I cared for, everything that has made my life till now?
Simply for you and for your success. And then for the first woman who
comes along--"

Her cheeks were flaming. As she thought more about what had happened a
storm of jealousy swept through her heart.

"That's not true or fair--what you imply!" said Claude. "I never--Mrs.
Shiffney is absolutely nothing to me--nothing!"

"Do you understand now that she got the libretto in order to show it to
Madame Sennier?"

"Did Gillier ever say so?"

"Of course not! Even if he knows it, do you think it was necessary he
should--to a woman!"

The contempt in her voice seemed to cut into him. He began, against his
will, to feel that Charmian must be right in her supposition, to believe
that he had been tricked.

"We have no proof," he said.

Charmian raised her eyebrows and sank back on the divan. She was
struggling against an outburst of tears. Her lips moved.

"Proof! Proof!" she said at last.

Her lips moved violently. She got up, and tried hurriedly to go by
Claude into the gallery; but he put out a hand and caught her by the
arm.

"Charmian!"

She tried to get away. But he held her.

"I do understand. You have given up a lot for me. Perhaps I was a great
fool at Constantine. I begin to believe I was. But, after all, there's
no great harm done. The libretto is mine--ours, ours. And we're not
going to give it up. I'll try--I'll try to put my heart into the music,
to bring off a real success, to give you all you want, pay you back for
all you've given up for me and the work. Of course, I may fail--"

She stopped his mouth with her lips, wrenched herself from his grasp,
and hurried away.

A moment later he heard the heavy low door of her bedroom creak as she
pushed it to, then the grinding of the key in the lock.

He sat down on the divan she had just left. For a moment he sat still,
facing the gallery, and the carved wooden balustrade which protected its
further side. Then he turned and looked out through the low, grated
window, from which no doubt in days long since gone by veiled Arab women
had looked as they sat idly on the divan.

He saw a section of almost black-purple sky