“Ah!--you don’t understand genius.” Craven felt rather nettled. He cared a good deal for the arts, and had no wish to be set among the Philistines. “And--do you?” he asked. “Yes, I think so. I’m not creative, but I’m very comprehending. Artists of all kinds feel that instinctively. That’s why they come round me in Paris.” “Yes, you do understand!” he acknowledged, remembering her enthusiasm at the theatre. “But I think _you_ are unscrupulous, too.” He said it hardily, looking straight at her, and wondering what she had been doing that afternoon before she arrived at the hotel. She smiled, making her eyes narrow. “Then perhaps I am half-way to genius.” “Would you be willing to sacrifice all the moral qualities if you could have genius in exchange?” “You can’t expect me to say so. But it would be grand to have power over men.” “You have that already.” She looked at him satirically. “Do you know you’re a terrible humbug?” she said. “And are not you?” “No; I think I show myself very much as I really am.” “Can a woman do that?” he said, with sudden moodiness. “It depends. Mrs. Ackroyde can and Lady Wrackley can’t.” “And--Lady Sellingworth?” he asked. “I’m afraid she is a bit of a humbug,” said Miss Van Tuyn, without venom. “I wonder when she’ll be back?” “Back? Where from?” “Surely you know she had gone abroad?” The look of surprise in Miss Van Tuyn’s face was so obviously genuine that Craven added: “You didn’t? Well, she has gone away for some time.” “Where to?” “Somewhere on the Riviera, I believe. Probably Cap Martin. But letters are not to be forwarded.” “At this time of year! Has she gone away alone?” “I suppose so.” Miss Van Tuyn looked at him with a sort of cold, almost hostile shrewdness. “And she told you she was going?” “Why should she tell me?” he said, with a hint of defiance. Miss Van Tuyn left that at once. “So Adela has run away!” she said. She sat for a moment quite still, like one considering something carefully. “But she will come back,” she said presently, looking up at him, “bringing her sheaves with her.” “What do you mean?” “Don’t you remember--in the Bible?” “But what has that to do with Lady Sellingworth?” “Perhaps you’ll understand when she comes back.” “I am really quite in the dark,” he said, with obvious sincerity. “And it’s nothing to me whether Lady Sellingworth comes back or stops away.” “I thought you joined with me in adoring her.” “Adoration isn’t the word. And you know it.” “And letters are not to be forwarded?” said Miss Van Tuyn. “I heard so.” “Ah! when you went to call on her!” “Now you are merely guessing!”