n often went off for a stroll alone. Between
tea and dinner time, if Charmian had no engagement, she and Alston
walked together in the scented Bois de Boulogne, past "Tananarivo," or
drove down to the Jardin d'Essai, and spent an hour there near the
shimmering sea.

In these many intimate hours Charmian learnt to appreciate the chivalry
and delicacy peculiar to well-bred American men in their relations with
women. Although she and Alston were both young, and she was an
attractive woman, she felt as safe with him as if he were her brother.
His life in Paris had left him entirely unspoiled, had even left him in
possession of the characteristic and open-hearted naivete which was one
of his chief attractions, though he was quite unaware of it. She was
very happy with Alston. But often she thought of Claude, far away on the
hill, shut in, resigning all this freedom, this delicious open-air life,
which she was enjoying with his friend.

"He's working almost too hard," she said one day when they were sitting
in the Jardin d'Essai, "and he will work at night now. He never used to
do that. Don't you think he's beginning to look rather white and worn
out?"

She spoke with some anxiety.

"Sometimes he does look a bit tired," Alston allowed. "But a man's bound
to when he puts his back into a thing. And there's not much doubt as to
whether old Claude's back is in the opera. I say, Mrs. Charmian, how far
has he got exactly?"

"Practically the whole of the music is composed, I believe. It's the
orchestration that takes such a lot of time."

"Well, and how far has that got? Claude's never told me plump out.
Composers never do. And I know better than to pump them. It's
fatal--that! They simply can't stand it."

"I know. I believe the opera might be ready by the end of this year."

"Not before then?"

They looked at each other, then Charmian said:

"Oh, Alston, if you only knew how difficult it is to me to wait--to wait
and not to show any impatience to him. Sometimes--well, now and then,
I've shut myself in and cried with impatience, cried angrily. I've
wanted to bite things. One day I actually did bite a pillow."

She laughed, but her cheeks were flushed.

"It's the perpetual keeping it in that is such a torment. I know how
wicked it would be to hurry him. And he does work so hard. And I've
heard of people taking ten years over an opera. Claude only began about
a year and five months ago. He's been marvellously quick, re