His performance had been the sort of thing she, having “advanced” views on musical matters, was generally inclined to sneer at or avoid. He had played two or three coon songs and a tango. But there had been in his playing a sheer “musicalness,” as she had called it afterwards, which had enticed her almost against her will. And when he had sung some little Spanish songs she had been conquered, though she had not said so. His voice was a warm and soft tenor, and he had sung very naturally, carelessly almost. But everything had been just right. When he had stolen time, when he had given it back, the stealing and repayment had been right. His expression had been charming and not overdone. There had been at moments a delightful impudence in his singing. The touches of tenderness had been light as a feather, but they had had real meaning. Through his last song he had kept a cigarette alight in his mouth. He had merely hummed the melody, but it had been quite delicious. Even Garstin had approved, and had said: “The stuff was sheer rot, but it was like a palm tree singing.” And then Arabian had given them a piece of information. “I was brought up among palm trees.” “Florida?” Garstin had said. But somehow the question had not been answered. Perhaps she--Beryl--had spoken just then. She was not sure. But she had been “got at” by the music. And at that moment she had realized why Arabian was dangerous to her. Not only his looks appealed to her. He had other, more secret weapons. Charm, suppleness of temperament, heat and desire were his. Otherwise he could not have sung and played that rubbish as he had done. That day, later on, he had not actually said, but had implied that some Spanish blood ran in his veins. “But I belong to no country,” he had added quickly. “I am a _gamin_ of the world.” “Not a citizen?” she had said. “No; I am the eternal _gamin_. I shall never be anything else.” All very well! But at moments she was convinced that there was a very hard and a very wary man in Arabian. Perhaps sitting under the singing palm tree there was a savage! She wanted to know what Arabian was. She began to feel that she must know. For, in spite of her ignorance, their intimacy was deepening. And now people were beginning to talk. Although she had been so careful not to show herself with Arabian in any smart restaurants, not to walk with him in the more frequented parts of the West End, they had been seen together. On the day when she had brought him to Claridge’s some American friends had seen them pass through the hall, and afterwards had asked her who he was. Another day, when she was coming away with him from the studio, she had met Lady Archie Brooke at the corner of Glebe Place. She had not stopped to speak. But Lady Archie had stared at Arabian. And Miss Van Tuyn knew what that meant. The “old guard” would be told of Beryl’s wonderful new man.