Craven that she guessed the reason of this sudden departure,
and had asserted that Adela would presently come back bringing sheaves
with her, she was not at all sure that her guess was right. Adela might
return mysteriously rejuvenated and ready to plunge once more into
the fray, braving opinion. It might be a case of _reculer pour mieux
sauter_. On the other hand, it might be a flight from danger. Miss Van
Tuyn was practically certain that Adela had fallen in love with Alick
Craven. Was she being sensible and deliberately keeping out of his way,
or was she being mad and trying to be made young at sixty in order to
return armed for his captivation. Time would show. Meanwhile the ground
was unexpectedly clear. Craven was seeking her, and she, by Garstin's
orders and in the strict service of art, was pushing her way towards a
sort of intimacy with Arabian. But the difference between the two men!

Craven's visit to Claridge's immediately after the hours spent
with Arabian had emphasized for her the mystery of the latter. Her
understanding of Craven underlined her ignorance about Arabian. The
confidence she felt in Craven--a confidence quite independent of his
liking, or not liking her--marked for her the fact that she had no
confidence in Arabian. Craven was just an English gentleman. He might
have done all sorts of things, but he was obviously a thoroughly
straight and decent fellow. A woman had only to glance at him to know
the things he could never do. But when she looked at Arabian--well,
then, the feeling was rather that Arabian might do anything. Craven
belonged obviously to a class, although he had a strong and attractive
individuality. English diplomacy presented many men of his type to the
embassies in foreign countries. But to what class did Arabian
belong? Even Dick Garstin was quite comprehensible, in spite of his
extraordinary manners and almost violent originality. He was a Bohemian,
with touches of genius, touches of vulgarity. There were others less
than him, yet not wholly unlike him, men of the studios, of the painting
schools, smelling as it were of Chelsea and the _Quartier Latin_. But
Arabian seemed to stand alone. When with him Miss Van Tuyn could not
tell what type of man must inevitably be his natural comrade, what must
inevitably be his natural environment. She could see him at Monte Carlo,
in the restaurants of Paris, in the _Galleria_ at Naples, in Cairo, in
Tunis, in a dozen places. But she coul