they had had real meaning.
Through his last song he had kept a cigarette alight in his mouth. He
had merely hummed the melody, but it had been quite delicious. Even
Garstin had approved, and had said: "The stuff was sheer rot, but it was
like a palm tree singing."

And then Arabian had given them a piece of information.

"I was brought up among palm trees."

"Florida?" Garstin had said.

But somehow the question had not been answered. Perhaps she--Beryl--had
spoken just then. She was not sure. But she had been "got at" by the
music. And at that moment she had realized why Arabian was dangerous
to her. Not only his looks appealed to her. He had other, more secret
weapons. Charm, suppleness of temperament, heat and desire were his.
Otherwise he could not have sung and played that rubbish as he had done.

That day, later on, he had not actually said, but had implied that some
Spanish blood ran in his veins.

"But I belong to no country," he had added quickly. "I am a _gamin_ of
the world."

"Not a citizen?" she had said.

"No; I am the eternal _gamin_. I shall never be anything else."

All very well! But at moments she was convinced that there was a very
hard and a very wary man in Arabian.

Perhaps sitting under the singing palm tree there was a savage!

She wanted to know what Arabian was. She began to feel that she must
know. For, in spite of her ignorance, their intimacy was deepening. And
now people were beginning to talk. Although she had been so careful not
to show herself with Arabian in any smart restaurants, not to walk with
him in the more frequented parts of the West End, they had been seen
together. On the day when she had brought him to Claridge's some
American friends had seen them pass through the hall, and afterwards
had asked her who he was. Another day, when she was coming away with him
from the studio, she had met Lady Archie Brooke at the corner of Glebe
Place. She had not stopped to speak. But Lady Archie had stared at
Arabian. And Miss Van Tuyn knew what that meant. The "old guard" would
be told of Beryl's wonderful new man.

She felt nervously sensitive about Arabian. And yet she had been about
Paris with all sorts of men, and had not cared what people had thought
or said. But those men had been clever, workers in the arts, men with
names that were known, or that would be known presently. Arabian was
different. She felt oddly shy about being seen with him. Her audacity
seemed fading a