almost a dear part of her
life.

But soon she fell into old ways of thought and of action, though she was
never, she believed, quite the same Charmian as before. She longed, as
of old, but even more strongly, to conquer the set, and this world of
pleasure-seekers and connoisseurs. But she looked upon them from the
outside, whereas before she had been inside. During her long absence she
had certainly "dropped out" a little. She realized the root indifference
of most people to those who are not perpetually before them, making a
claim to friendship. When she reappeared in London many whom she had
hitherto looked upon as friends greeted her with a casual, "Oh, are you
back after all? We thought you had quite forsaken us!" And it was
impossible for even Charmian to suppose that such a forsaking would have
been felt as a great affliction.

This recognition on her part of the small place she had held, even as
merely a charming girl, in this society, made Charmian think of
Djenan-el-Maqui with a stronger affection, but also made her long in a
new, and more ruthless way, to triumph in London, as clever wives of
great celebrities triumph. She saw Madame Sennier several times, as
usual surrounded and feted. And Madame Sennier, though she nodded and
said a few words, scarcely seemed to remember who Charmian was. Only
once did Charmian see a peculiarly keen expression in the yellow eyes as
they looked at her. That was when some mention was made of a project of
Crayford's, his intention to build a big opera house in London. Madame
Sennier had shrugged her shoulders. But as she answered, "What would be
the use? The Metropolitan has nearly killed him. Covent Garden, with
its subscription, would simply finish him off. He has moved Heaven and
earth to get Jacques' new opera either for America or England, but of
course we laughed at him. He may pretend as much as he likes, but he's
got nothing up his sleeve"--the yellow eyes had fixed themselves upon
Charmian with an intent look that was almost like a look of inquiry.

To Sennier she had only spoken twice. The first time he had forgotten
who she was. The second time he had exclaimed, "Ah, the syrups! the
greengage! and the moonlight among the passion-flowers!" and had greeted
her with effusion.

But he had never come to call on her.

She still felt a sort of fondness for him; but she understood that he
was like a child who needed perpetual petting and did not care very much
from wh