The Golden Silence

l clue before he had reached the drawing-room. Nevill led him there by way of many tile-p

, ivory and coral. Here and there as they passed, were garden glimpses, between embroidered curtains, looking through windows always barred with greenish wrought iron, so old as to be rarely beautiful; and some small windows had no curtains, but were thickly frilled outside with the violent crimson of bougainvill?

m at last," said Nevill

and moan, while you have your tea. How do you do, Mr. Knight? I'm delighted you've taken pity on Nevill. He's never so happy as w

hook the hand of a tiny lady who looked rather like an elderly fairy disgu

al surprise, her forehead full, her cheekbones high and pink, her small, pursed mouth of the kind which prefers to hide a sense of humour, and then astonish people with it when they have ceased to believe in its existence. If her complexion had not been netted all over with a lacework of infinitesimal wrinkles, she would have looked like a little girl dressed up for an

ay some folk in old houses are with rats. Nearly all of them slaves, too, so there's no variety, except that some are female. I've g

see or hear?"

e couldn't be happy unless she had a grievance. Here she wanted to choose an original a

her pretty, miniature hands, half hidden in lace ruffles. "As if they hadn't gone through enough, in flesh and

to know, still smiling, because it was almo

To be sure, they tell strange tales of him here, as I make no doubt Nevill has already mentioned, because he's immoral enough to be proud of what he calls the romance. I mean the story of the beautiful Arab lady,

ending to think I've already told it," said Nevill. "But I'm going to show Knight his quarters. Pretty or

from Morocco. These rooms opened upon a wide covered balcony screened by a carved wooden lattice and from the balcony Stephen could look over hills, near and far, dotted with white villas that lay like resting gulls on the green w

foot two at least. "No, you are not dreaming them, Mr. Knight," announced Lady MacGregor, evidently delighted with the admiring surprise in the look he bestowed upon these images. "And you're quite right. They are twins. I may as well break it to you now, as

xpressionless as if carved in stone. Lady MacGregor took nothing from Mohammed and the other Kabyle servant who waited on Nevill and Stephen. Everything for her was handed to one of the Highlanders, who gravely passed on the dish to their mistr

aint old Arab lamps that stood in corners, or hung suspended from the cedar roof, flashed out cunningly concealed electric lights. At the same moment, there began a great howling outside the door. Mohammed sprang to open it, and in poured a wave of animals. Stephen hastily counted five dogs; a collie, a white deerhound, a Dandy

em to dinner, because then she sometimes wears fluffy things about which she has a foolish vanity. The collie is Angus's. The deerhound is Hamish's. The dandy is hers. The two Kabyles are Mohammed's,

od the house with them. But the queerer he thought the family, the better he found himself liking it. He felt a boy let out of school after weeks of disgrac

hen longed to kiss her. This form of worship not being permitted, he tried to open the dining-room door

trailed her maligned "fluffiness" away to the drawing-room, and Nevill and Stephen had strolled with their cigarettes out into the unearthly whiteness of the lily garden, Stephen felt that something was coming. He had known that Nevill had a story to tell, by and by, and though he knew also that he would be asked no questions in return, now or ever, it occu

l silver. Stephen thought of Victoria Ray, and wished she could see this garden. He thought, too, that if

gone forever," he caught

r the moon. He supposed there must always be some woman whose image was suggested to every man by all that was fairest in nature. Margot Lorenzi was the woman whose image he must keep in his mind, if he wanted to know any faint imitation o

dear, isn't she?" remarked

ewel," sai

e me. She's poorer than any church or other mouse I ever met, yet she turns up her little Fr

nose?" ech

saw such dimples. Miss Ray's prettier than my girl, I suppose. But I think mi

" Stephen aske

a quaint way. All the visiting Royalties of every nation drop in and spend hours in her place. She has a good many Arab acquaintances, too. Even rich chiefs come to sell, or buy things from her, and respect her immensely. But my girl-I like to call her that-is away off in the west, clos

oming on," s

tress of an école indigène for embroideries and carpets, at Tlemcen. Heaven knows how few francs a month she ear

little, if you care so much for her,

s adventures, and married a non-com. in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, who chucked the army for her. The two kept a little hotel. Then the husband died, while the girls were children. The mother gave up the hotel and took in sewing. Everybody was interested in the family, they were so clever and exceptional, and people

ng is," Stephen said. "Sh

ney. She'd refused to do anything more serious than flirt and reduce me to misery, until she thought I could give her what she wanted. I'd imagined myself horribly in love, until her sudden willingness to take me showed me once for all what she was. Even so, I couldn't cure the habit of love at first; but I had just sense enough to keep out of England, where she was, for fear I should lose my head and marry her. My cure was rather slow, but it was sure; and now I know that what I thought was love

h the papers," Stephen blurted out with

less you really want to. But I say, look here, Stephen. That woman I thought I cared for-may I tell you

rse. Wh

ht only of herself. I-there was a picture in a London paper lately which reminded me of her-the picture of a young

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 Kaby

ved gaiety was str

white, then

his mind. He did not want them to ha

e perfume of the lilies