"Look well on the stage that boy!" said Crayford's voice. "No mistake at all about its being picturesque over here." Then the two men came in sight in the sunshine. Instantly Alston said, as he took off his Panama hat: "You got my wire from Marseilles, Mrs. Charmian?" "Oh, yes, I was expecting you! But I didn't know when. Mr. Crayford, how kind of you to come over here in September! No one ever does." She had got up rather languidly and was holding out her hand. "Guess it's the proper time to come," said Crayford, squeezing her hand with his dried-up palm. "See a bit of the real thing! I don't believe in tourist seasons at all. Tourists always choose the wrong time, seems to me." By the look in his eyes as he glanced around him Charmian saw that he was under the spell of Djenan-el-Maqui. "You must have tea, iced drinks, whatever you like," she said. "I'm all alone--as you see." "What's that?" said Crayford. "My husband is away." Crayford's lips pursed themselves. For a moment he looked like a man who finds he has been "had." In that moment Charmian knew that his real reason in "running over" to North Africa had certainly been the opera. She did not suppose he had acknowledged this to Lake, or ever would acknowledge it to anyone. But she was quite certain of it. "Gone to England?" asked Crayford, carelessly. "Oh, no. He's been working too hard, and run away by himself for a little holiday to a place near here, Hammam R'rirha. He'll be sorry to miss you. I know how busy you always are, so I suppose you'll only stay a day or two." Crayford's keen eyes suddenly fastened upon her. "Yes, I haven't too much time," he remarked drily. They all sat down, and again Crayford looked around, stretching out his short and muscular legs. "Cute, and no mistake!" he observed, with a sigh, as he pulled at the tiny beard. "Think of living here now! Pity I'm not a composer, eh, Alston?" He ended with a laugh. "And what's your husband been up to, Mrs. Heath?" he continued, settling himself more comfortably in his big chair, and pushing his white Homburg hat backward to leave his brown forehead bare to a tiny breeze which spoke softly, very gently, of the sea. "You've been over here for a big bunch of Sundays, Alston tells me, week-days too." "Oh--" She seemed to be hesitating. Alston's boyish eyes twinkled with appreciation. "Well, we came here--we wanted to be quiet." "You've got out of sight of Broadway, that's certain." Tea and iced drinks were brought out. They talked of casual matters. The softness of late afternoon, warm, scented, exotic, dreamed in the radiant air. And Crayford said: "It's cute! It's cute!" He had removed his hat now and almost lay back in his chair. Presently he said: "Seems to me years since I've rested like this, Alston!" "I believe it is many years," said Lake, with a little satisfied laugh. "I've never seen you do it before." "'Cepting the cure. And that don't amount to anything."