want me there I'll just put you ashore on the
beach, near Cap Matifou or somewhere, and leave you there with your
trunks. You are an eccentric, but that's no reason why you shouldn't
have a comfortable voyage."

"Very well. It's very kind of you, Adelaide," Susan returned, without a
trace of vexation.

That very day Mrs. Shiffney telegraphed to the captain of the yacht to
bring her round to Marseilles. In the evening Susan Fleet returned to
Folkestone.

Mrs. Shiffney did not intend to make the journey alone with Susan, and
to be left "in the air" at Algiers. She must get a man or two. After a
few minutes' thought she sent a message to Max Elliot asking him to look
in upon her. When he came she invited him to join the party.

"You must come," she said. "Only ten days or so. Surely you can get
away. And you'll see your protege, Mr. Heath."

"My protege!"

"Well, you were the first to discover him."

"But he's impossible. A charming fellow with undoubted talent, but so
bearish about his music. I gave it up, as you know, though I'm always
the Heaths' very good friend."

"Well, but his song?"

"One song! What's that? And his wife made him compose it. Nobody has
ever heard his really fine work, his Te Deum, and his settings of sacred
words."

"His wife and mother have, I believe."

"His wife--yes. And she will take care no one else ever does hear them
now."

"Why?"

Max Elliot looked at Mrs. Shiffney. Into his big and genial eyes there
came an expression of light sarcasm, almost of contempt. He shrugged his
shoulders.

"Art and the world!" he said enigmatically.

"Well, but, Max, don't you represent the world in connection with the
art of music?"

"I! Do I?" he said, suddenly grave.

She laughed.

"I should think so, _mon cher_. I don't believe either you or I have a
right to talk!"

It was a moment of truth, and was followed, as truth often is, by a
moment of silence. Then Mrs. Shiffney said:

"Claude Heath has gone to Algiers to compose an opera."

"Oh, all this opera madness is owing to the success of Jacques!"

"Of course. I know that. But another Jacques might spring up, I suppose.
Henriette wouldn't like that."

"Like it!" exclaimed Max Elliot, twisting his thick lips. "She wants a
clear field for the next big event. And I must say she deserves it."

"Just what I think. Well, you'll come to Algiers and hear how the new
opera's getting on?"

He glanced at her determined eyes.

"Yes,