"But I hope it won't be unsuccessful much longer," Charmian said, with deliberate graciousness. "I hope so too, madame." Something in his voice, a new tone, almost startled her. But she continued, without any change of manner: "We must all hope for a great success." "We, madame?" "You and I and my husband." Gillier bit his moustache and looked down. A heavy gloom seemed to have overspread him. After a moment he looked up, leaned back, as if determined to be at his ease, and said abruptly: "Monsieur Sennier has completed a new opera. It is to be produced at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York some time next winter." "Is it?" Charmian tried to keep all expression out of her voice as she spoke. "Since I last saw you, madame," Gillier continued, "I have managed to get a look at the libretto." Without knowing that she did so Charmian leaned forward quickly and moved her hands. "It does not approach my work, the work your husband bought from me for only one hundred pounds, in strength and drama." "Your libretto is splendid. Mr. Lake and I have always thought so; and of course my husband agrees with us. But you know that." Gillier pulled his thick moustache, looked quickly round the room, then at his hands, which he had abruptly brought down on his knees, and then at Charmian. "I have reason to believe that Jacques Sennier--or rather Madame Sennier, for she read all the libretti sent in to him, and only showed him those she thought worth considering--that if Madame Sennier had seen the libretto I sold to your husband Sennier would have set mine--mine--in preference to the one he has set." "Indeed!" said Charmian, with studied indifference. "Yes!" he exclaimed, almost with violence. "All this is very interesting. But I don't see what it has to do with me and my husband. You were good enough to offer to buy back your libretto from us last year. We refused. Our refusal--" "Your refusal, madame! I never spoke about the matter to your husband. I never asked him." "Have you come here now to ask him? Is that what you mean, monsieur?" Gillier got up, throwing his cigarette end into the brass coffee tray. He was evidently much excited. As he stood up in front of her Charmian thought that he looked suddenly more common, coarser. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his black trousers. "I must understand the position," he began. "It is perfectly clear. Forgive me, monsieur, but I must say I think it rather bad taste on your part to return to a subject which has been finally disposed of and which is very disagreeable to me." "Madame, I am here to say to you that I cannot consider it as finally disposed of till I have discussed it with Monsieur Heath. I came here prepared to make a proposition." "It is useless." "Madame, I trust that your husband is not endeavoring to avoid me." Charmian got up and sharply clapped her hands. The Arab boy, Bibi, appeared. "Bibi, ask monsieur to come," she said to him in French.