"Oh, but I paid them for wanting to know whether they could go to London on camels. What a success your opera ought to be if you have got a fine libretto." They were just leaving the cafe. "Do let us stand by the wall for a minute," she added. "By that tree. It is so wonderful here." Claude's guide, Aloui, had come to accompany him home, and was behind with Amor. They stayed in the doorway of the cafe. Mrs. Shiffney and Claude leaned on the wall, looking down into the vast void from which rose the cool wind and the sound of water. "What would I give to be a creative artist!" she said. "That must add so much meaning to all this. Do you know how fortunate you are? Do you know you possess the earth?" The sable sleeve of her coat touched Claude's arm and hand. Her deep voice sounded warm and full of genuine feeling. A short time ago, when she had come into the cafe, he had been both astonished and vexed to see her. Now he knew that he had enjoyed this evening more than any other evening that he had spent in Constantine. "But there are plenty of drawbacks," he said. "Oh, no, not real ones! After this evening--well, I shall wish for your success. Till now I didn't care in the least. Indeed, I believe I hoped you never would have a great success." She moved slightly nearer to him. "Did you?" he said. "Yes. You've always been so horrid to me, when I always wanted to be nice to you." "Oh, but--" "Don't let us talk about it. What does it matter now? I thought I might have done something for you once, have helped you on a little, perhaps. But now you are married and settled and will make your own way. I feel it. You don't want anyone's help. You've come away from us all, and how right you've been. And Charmian's done the right thing, too, giving up all our nonsense for your work. Sacrifice means success. You are bound to have it. I feel you are going to. Ah, you don't know how I sometimes long to be linked, really linked, to the striving, the abnegation, the patience, the triumph of a man of genius! People envy my silly little position, as they call it. And what is it worth? And yet I do know, I have an instinct, a flair, for the real thing. I'm ignorant. I can dare to acknowledge it to you. But I can tell what is good and bad, and sometimes even why a thing is good. I'm led away, of course. In a silly social life like mine everybody is led away. We can't help it. But I could have been worth something in the art life of a big man, if I'd loved him." How soft sable is against a hand! "I'm sure you could," Claude said. "And as it is--" She stopped speaking abruptly. Then with a marked change of voice she said: