way in her. She realized that and felt alarmed. If only
she knew something definite about Arabian, who he was, what his people
were, where he came from, she would feel much easier. She began to
worry about the matter. She lay awake at night. At moments a sort of
desperation came upon her like a wave. Sometimes she said to herself, "I
wish I had never met him." And yet she knew that she did not want to get
rid of him. But she wished no one to know of her friendship; with this
man--if it were a friendship.

Garstin was watching her through it all. She hated his eyes. He did not
care what was happening to her. He only cared what appearance it caused;
how it affected her eyes, her manner, her expression, the line of her
mouth, the movements of her hands. He had said that she was waking up.
But--to what?

All this time she seemed to be aware of an almost fatal growing
intention in Arabian. Nevertheless, he waited. She had never been able
to forget the article she had read in the _Westminster Gazette_. When
she had read about the woman in the play she had instinctively compared
herself with that woman. And then something in her revolted. She had
thought of it as her Americanism, which loathed the idea of slavery in
any form. But nevertheless, she had been aware of alarming possibilities
within her. She was able to understand the woman in the play. And that
must surely be because she was obscurely akin to her. And she knew that
when she had read the article the man in the play had made her think
of Arabian. That, of course, was absurd. But she understood why it was.
That woman had been attracted by a man of whom she knew nothing. She,
Beryl Van Tuyn, was in the same situation. But of course she did not
compare poor Arabian in her mind with a homicidal maniac.

He was gentle and charming. Old Fanny liked him immensely, said he had a
kind heart. And Fanny was sensitive.

Yet again she thought of the savage sitting under the palm tree and of
Dick Garstin's allusion to a king in the underworld.

She resented being worried. She resented having her nerves on edge.
She was angry with Dick Garstin, and even angry with herself. In bed
at night, when she could not sleep, she read books on New Thought,
and tried to learn how to govern her mind and to control her thought
processes. But she was not successful in the attempt. Her mind
continually went to Arabian, and then she was filled with anxiety,
with suspicion, with jealousy, and