She had caught all his enthusiasm. It seemed to her that in North Africa Mr. Crayford could not refuse the opera. From that moment she had made up her mind. No London season! Whatever happened, she and Claude were going to remain at Djenan-el-Maqui till the opera was finished, finished to the last detail. That very evening she spoke about it to Claude. "Claudie," she said. "Are you very keen on going to London this year?" He looked at her as if almost startled. "I? But, surely--do you mean that you don't want to go?" She moved her head. "Not one little bit." "Well, but then where do you wish to go?" "Where? Why should we go anywhere?" "Stay here?" "I've come to love this little house, the garden, even those absurd goldfish that are always looking for nothing." "Well, but the heat!" His voice did not sound reluctant or protesting, only a little doubtful and surprised. "Lots of people stay. Algiers doesn't empty of human beings, only of travellers, because it's summer. And we are up on a height." "That's true. And I could work on quietly." "Absolutely undisturbed." "The only thing is I meant to see Jernington." Jernington was the professor with whom Claude studied orchestration in London. "Get him over here." "Jernington! Why, he never leaves London!" "Get him to for a month. We'll pay all his expenses and everything, of course." "How you go ahead!" he said, laughing. "You must be a twin of Alston's, I think." "What has got to be done can be done." "Well, but the expense; you know, Charmian, we live right up to our income." "Hang the expense! Oh, as Alston would say!" He laughed. "You really are a marvellous wife!" "Am I? Am I?" "I might sound old Jernington. He'll think I'm raving mad, but still--" "I only hope," she said, smiling and eager, "that he won't be so raving sane as to refuse." "But what will Madre think, not seeing you--us, I mean?" Charmian looked grave. "Yes, I know. But Madre has never come to see us here." "Oh, Charmian, there could never be a cloud between Madre and us!" "No, no, never! Still, why has she never come?" "She really hates the sea. You know she has never in her life done more than cross the Channel." "Do you think that is the reason why she has never come?" "How can I know?" "Claude, Madre is strange sometimes. Don't you think so?" "Strange? She is absolutely herself. She does not take anyone else's color, if that is what you mean. I love that in her." "So do I. Still, I think she is strange." At this moment Alston came in and the conversation dropped. But both husband and wife thought many times of "Madre" that day, and not without a certain uneasiness. Was the heart of the mother with them in their enterprise?