't believe either could make
a man happy."

Stephen laughed--a short, embarrassed laugh. "Oh, happy!" he echoed.
"After twenty-five we learn not to expect happiness. But--thank you
for--everything, and especially for inviting me here." He knew now why
it had occurred to Nevill to ask him to Algiers. Nevill had seen
Margot's picture. In silence they walked towards the open door of the
dining-room. Somewhere not far away the Kabyle dogs were barking
shrilly. In the distance rose and fell muffled notes of strange passion
and fierceness, an Arab tom-tom beating like the heart of the conquered
East, away in the old town.

Stephen's short-lived gaiety was struck out of his soul.

"For a moment white, then gone forever."

He pushed the haunting words out of his mind. He did not want them to
have any meaning. They had no meaning.

It seemed to him that the perfume of the lilies was too heavy on the
air.

X

A white peacock, screaming in the garden under Stephen's balcony, waked
him early, and dreamily his thoughts strayed towards the events planned
for the day.

They were to make a morning call on Mademoiselle Soubise in her
curiosity-shop, and ask about Ben Halim, the husband of Saidee Ray.
Victoria was coming to luncheon, for she had accepted Lady MacGregor's
invitation. Her note had been brought in last night, while he and Nevill
walked in the garden. Afterwards Lady MacGregor had shown it to them
both. The girl wrote an interesting hand, full of individuality, and
expressive of decision. Perhaps on her arrival they might have something
to tell her.

This hope shot Stephen out of bed, though it was only seven, and
breakfast was not until nine. He had a cold bath in the private
bathroom, which was one of Nevill's modern improvements in the old
house, and by and by went for a walk, thinking to have the gardens to
himself. But Nevill was there, cutting flowers and whistling tunefully.
It was to him that the jewelled white peacock had screamed a greeting.

"I like cutting the flowers myself," said he. "I don't think they care
to have others touch them, any more than a cow likes to be milked by a
stranger. Of course they feel the difference! Why, they know when I
praise them, and preen themselves. They curl up when they're scolded, or
not noticed, just as I do when people aren't nice to me. Every day I
send off a box of my best roses to Tlemcen. _She_ allows me to do that."

Lady MacGregor did not appear at