John Cumberland and Professor Blackwell came down shortly afterward, and the bored young man went off to join a friend who was dining with him. While they waited for Zalithea, Barry related what he had heard. “Mr. Tawwab is a subject who was born to be poisoned,” said the Professor. “I shall feel altogether more at ease when I find myself outside his sphere of influence.” “It’s disturbing,” muttered John Cumberland. “I fear he’s up to fresh mischief. He hadn’t counted on our slipping away so soon and covering our tracks. He probably considers we have bested him.” He broke of, staring. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Barry! Did we dream it all? Look at her!” Zalithea had just come into the lounge, cynosure of many eyes. She was a radiant vision in a zephyr-like Paris model. Whom John Cumberland had commissioned to buy it and what he had paid for it only John Cumberland knew. But he was satisfied. Marie, the chambermaid, had done her work well. As they made their way to the table, soft music of an orchestra stole through the hubbub. Barry thought that the lovely girl beside him whose eyes were lighted up happily must have heard other music and witnessed stranger banquets on this very spot… three thousand years ago! That uncomfortable sense of unreality, a sort of veil through which he saw and heard imperfectly, descended upon Barry during the early stages of dinner. The irrigation man and his friend sat quite near and were at no pains to hide their admiration of Zalithea. In fact, it gradually became apparent that the beautiful unknown was being widely discussed. Barry wondered if the story of the sheik’s daughter had spread farther than they supposed. He began to cast off the Old Man of the Sea astride his shoulders--to disregard the inner voice which whispered--whispered: “Yes, she looks young and lovely. But you saw her in the tomb. You _know_ she is the oldest woman who has ever lived.” He was fully and finally aroused by a waiter who handed him a folded note. It was from the young man at the near-by table, and it read: “Where can I take lessons in Kabyle?” The smiling impudence of his acquaintance appealed to Barry’s sense of humour. He showed the note to John Cumberland and the Professor. Zalithea, while they read it, touched Barry’s arm, and: “Fo-ah me?” she said. He laughed outright. “Yes!” he nodded. Zalithea held out her hand for the note. Professor Blackwell passed it to her. And she studied it gravely. It was at this moment that a high-pitched feminine voice made itself audible above the other voices. “I really _must_ just say how d’you do!” John Cumberland started and looked over his shoulder. A very smart, hard-faced woman was making for their table. She seemed to be possessed of volcanic energy, and: “Holy Mike!” said he. “Mrs. Uffington!” “What!” Barry muttered, and glanced in the same direction. “Good Lord! All New York will have the story now!”