“I can’t see anything wonderful. It isn’t true,” she said. “Ah that is very English” beamed Mr. Shatov. “It is. _Any_ English person would know that it is not true.” Mr. Shatov gurgled his laughter. “Ah that is very naïve.” “It may be. That doesn’t make any difference.” “It makes the difference that you are inexperienced,” he growled gently. That was true. She had no experience. She only _knew_ it was not true. Perhaps it was true. Then life grew bleak again..... It was not true. But it was true for men. Skimmed off the surface, which was all they could see, and set up neatly in forcible quotable words. The rest could not be shown in these clever, neat phrases. “But I find the air here is most-evil. Let us rather go have tea.” Astonishment melted into her pride in leading him down through the great hall and along the beloved corridor of her solitary pacings, out into the gigantic granite smile of the Egyptian gallery, to the always sudden door of the refreshment room. “If I got locked into the Museum at night I should stay in this gallery,” she said unable to bear companionship in her sanctuary without extorting some recognition of its never-failing quality. “It is certainly impressive, in a crude way,” admitted Mr. Shatov. “They are so absolutely peaceful” said Miriam struggling on behalf of her friends with her fury at this extraordinary judgment. It had not before occurred to her that they were peaceful and that was not enough. She gazed down the vista to discover the nature of the spell they cast. “You can see them in clear light in the desert” she exclaimed in a moment. The charm grew as she spoke. She looked forward to being alone with them again in the light of this discovery. The chill of Mr. Shatov’s indifferent response to her explanation was buried in her private acknowledgment that it was he who had forced her to discover something of the reason of her enchantment. He forced her to think. She reflected that solitude was too easy. It was necessary for certainties. Nothing could be known except in solitude. But the struggle to communicate certainties gave them new life; even if the explanation were only a small piece of the truth..... “Excuse me I leave you a moment” he said, turning off through the maze of little figures near the door. The extraordinary new thing was that she _could_ think, untroubled, in his company. She gratefully blessed his disappearing form. “I’m going to have toast and jam” she announced expansively when the waitress appeared. “Bring me just a large pot of tea and some kind of sweetmeat” said Mr. Shatov reproachfully. “Pastries” murmured Miriam. “What is _pastries_” he asked mournfully. “Pâtisseries” beamed Miriam. “Ah no” he explained patiently, “it is not that at all; I will have simply some small things in sugar.” “No pastries; cake,” said the waitress, watching herself in the mirror. “Ach bring me just _tea_,” bellowed Mr. Shatov.