in giving Crayford an impression that there might be some
secret in connection with Claude Heath's opera. This set the impresario
bristling. He was like a terrier at the opening of a rat-hole.

Charmian's little dinner that night was perfect. Crayford fell into a
seraphic mood. Beneath his hard enterprise, his fierce energies, his
armor of business equipment, there was a strain of romance of which he
was half-ashamed, and which he scarcely understood or was at ease with.
That night it came rather near to the surface of him. As he stepped out
into the court to take coffee, with an excellent Havana in his mouth,
as he saw the deep and limpid sky glittering with strong, almost fierce
stars, and farther fainter stars, he heaved a long sigh.

"Bully!" he breathed. "Bully, and no mistake!"

Exactly how it all came about Charmian did not remember afterward;
Alston, she thought, must have prepared the way with masterly ingenuity.
Or perhaps she--no, she was not conscious of having brought it about
deliberately. The fact was this. At ten o'clock that night, sitting with
a light behind her, Charmian began to read the libretto of the opera to
the two men who were smoking near the fountain.

It had seemed inevitable. The hour was propitious. They were all "worked
up." The night, perhaps, played upon them after "La Grande Jeanne" had
done her part. Crayford was obviously in his softest, most receptive
mood. Alston was expansive, was in a gloriously hopeful condition. The
opera was mentioned again. By whom? Surely by the hour or the night! It
had to be mentioned, and inevitably was. Crayford was sympathetic, spoke
almost with emotion--a liqueur-glass of excellent old brandy in his
hand--of the young talented ones who must bear the banner of art bravely
before the coming generations.

"I love the young!" he said. "It is my proudest boast to seek out and
bring forward the young. Aren't it, Alston?"

Influenced perhaps by the satiny texture of the old brandy, in
combination with the scented and jewelled night, he spoke as if he
existed only for the benefit of the young, never thought about
money-making, or business propositions. Charmian was touched. Alston
also seemed moved. Claude was young. Crayford spoke of him, of his
talent. Charmian was no longer evasive, though she honestly meant to be,
thinking evasiveness was "the best way with Mr. Crayford." How could
she, burning with secret eagerness, be evasive after a perfect dinner