"Sometimes he does look a bit tired," Alston allowed. "But a man's bound to when he puts his back into a thing. And there's not much doubt as to whether old Claude's back is in the opera. I say, Mrs. Charmian, how far has he got exactly?" "Practically the whole of the music is composed, I believe. It's the orchestration that takes such a lot of time." "Well, and how far has that got? Claude's never told me plump out. Composers never do. And I know better than to pump them. It's fatal--that! They simply can't stand it." "I know. I believe the opera might be ready by the end of this year." "Not before then?" They looked at each other, then Charmian said: "Oh, Alston, if you only knew how difficult it is to me to wait--to wait and not to show any impatience to him. Sometimes--well, now and then, I've shut myself in and cried with impatience, cried angrily. I've wanted to bite things. One day I actually did bite a pillow." She laughed, but her cheeks were flushed. "It's the perpetual keeping it in that is such a torment. I know how wicked it would be to hurry him. And he does work so hard. And I've heard of people taking ten years over an opera. Claude only began about a year and five months ago. He's been marvellously quick, really. But, oh, sometimes I feel as if this suppressed impatience were making me ill, physically and mentally, as if it were a kind of poison stealing all through me! Can you understand?" "Can I? You bet! I only wish the thing could be ready before Crayford goes back to the States." "When does he go?" "Some time in September, I believe. He goes on the Continent after July. Of course, July he's in London, June too. Then he has his cure at Divonne. If only---- When do you come to London?" Charmian suddenly grasped his arm. "Alston, I'll keep him here, give up London, anything to have the opera finished by the end of August!" "Well, but the heat!" "I don't believe it's too hot upon the hill where we are, with all those trees. Every afternoon I expect there's a breeze from the sea. I know we could stand it. It's only April now. That would mean four solid months of steady work. But then?" "I'd bring Crayford over." "Would he come?" "I'd make him." "But we might--" "No, Mrs. Charmian. He ought to hear it in Mustapha. I know him. He's a hard business man. But he's awfully susceptible too. And then he's great on scenic effects. Now, he's never been in Africa. Think of the glamour of it, especially in summer, when the real Africa emerges, by Gee, in all its blue and fire! We'd plunge him in it, you and I. That Casbah scene--you know, the third act! I'd take him there by moonlight on a September night--full moon--show him the women on their terraces and in their courts, the town dropping down to the silver below, while the native music--by Gee! We'd dazzle him, we'd spread the magic carpet for him, we'd carry him away till he couldn't say no, till he'd be as mad on the thing as we are!" "Oh, Alston, if we could!"