s replied
to by both! And she, in an effort to seem Oriental, calls the
Dervish, "My Syrian Rose," "My Desert Flower," "My Beduin Boy," et
cetera, always closing her message with either a strip of Syrian sky
or a camel load of the narcissus. Ah, but not thus will the play
close. True, Khalid alone adorns her studio for a time, or rather
adores in it; he alone accompanies her to Bohemia. But the Dervish,
who was always going wrong in Bohemia,--always at the door of the
Devil,--ventures one night to escort another woman to her studio. Ah,
those studios! The Enchantress on hearing of the crime lights the fire
under her cauldron. "Double, double, toil and trouble!" She then goes
to the telephone--g-r-r-r-r you swine--you Phoenician murex--she hangs
up the receiver, and stirs the cauldron. "Double, double, toil and
trouble!" But the Dervish writes her an extraordinary letter, in which
we suspect the pen of our Scribe, and from which we can but transcribe
the following:

"You found in me a vacant heart," he pleads, "and you occupied
it. The divan therein is yours, yours alone. Nor shall I ever
permit a chance caller, an intruder, to exasperate you.... My
breast is a stronghold in which you are well fortified. How then
can any one disturb you?... How can I turn from myself against
myself? Somewhat of you, the best of you, circulates with my
blood; you are my breath of life. How can I then overcome you?
How can I turn to another for the sustenance which you alone can
give?... If I be thirst personified, you are the living, flowing
brook, the everlasting fountain. O for a drink--"

And here follows a hectic uprush about pearly breasts, and
honey-sources, and musk-scented arbours, closing with "Your Beduin Boy
shall come to-night."

Notwithstanding which, the Enchantress abandons the Syrian Dwelling:
she no longer fancies the vacant Divan of which Khalid speaks.
Fortress or no fortress, she gives up occupation and withdraws from
the foreigner her favour. Not only that; but the fire is crackling
under the cauldron, and the typewriter begins to click. Ay, these
modern witches can make even a typewriter dance around the fire and
join in the chorus. "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn, and
cauldron bubble!" and the performance was transformed from the studio
to the magazine supplement of one of the Sunday newspapers. There, the
Dervish is thrown into the cauldron along with the magic herbs.
Bubble--b