His forcible self-confidence exercised a compelling effect. The girl lifted her head and looked at him. Tears stood in her eyes, and as the electric light caught the clear drops they cast out scintillant flashes. Against the dim interior her head, with its nimbus of hair, had the droop and poise of the head of a mediaeval saint. "Oh, but you don't know how unhappy I am!" she said. He spoke as he would have spoken to Mr. Paul in the same circumstances. "You have no one to whom you can go?" "No." "Then tell me about it." His tone was that in which a physician might inquire the condition of a patient's digestion. It was absolutely devoid of the recognition of sex. "Oh, I have worked so hard!" said Mariana. "Yes?" "And I hoped to sing in opera, and--Morani tells me that--it will be impossible." "Ah!" In the peculiar power of his voice the exclamation had the warmth of a handshake. Mariana rested her chin upon her clasped hands and looked at him. "He says it must be a music-hall--or--or nothing," she added. He was silent for a moment. He felt that it was a case in which his sympathy could be exceeded only by his ignorance. "And this is why you are unhappy?" he asked. "Is there nothing else?" She gave a little sob. "I am tired," she said. "My allowance hasn't come--and I missed my dinner, and I am--hungry." Algarcife responded with relieved cheerfulness. "Why, we are prepared for that," he said. "I was just sitting down to my supper, and you will join me." In his complete estrangement from the artificial restraints of society, it seemed to him the simplest of possible adjustments of the difficulty. He felt that his intervention had not been wholly without beneficial results. Mariana glanced swiftly up into his face. "Come!" he said; and she rose and followed him. CHAPTER V As Mariana crossed the threshold the light dazzled her, and she raised her hand to her eyes. Then she lowered it and looked at him between half-closed lids. It was a trick of mannerism which heightened the subtlety of her smile. In the deep shadows cast by her lashes her eyes were untranslatable. "You are very hospitable," she said. "A virtue which covers a multitude of sins," he answered, pleasantly. "If you will make yourself at home, I'll fix things up a bit." He opened the doors of the cupboard and took out a plate and a cup and saucer, which he placed before her. "I am sorry I can't offer you a napkin," he said, apologetically, "but they allow me only one a day, and I had that at luncheon." Mariana laughed merrily. The effects of recent tears were visible only in the added lustre of her glance and the pallor of her face. She had grown suddenly mirthful. "Don't let's be civilized!" she pleaded. "I abhor civilization. It invented so many unnecessary evils. Barbarians didn't want napkins; they wanted only food. I am a barbarian." Algarcife cut the cold chicken and passed her the bread and butter.