Zahara did not reply for a moment. She wished to close this line
of conversation which inadvertently she had opened up. So that,
presently:

"You look very lonely and bored," she said softly.

As a matter of fact, it was she who was bored of the life she led
in Limehouse--in chilly, misty Limehouse--and who had grown so
very lonely since Safiyeh had come. In the dark gray eyes
looking up at her she read recognition of her secret. Here was a
man possessing that rare masculine attribute, intuition. Zahara
knew a fear that was half delightful. Fear because she might
fail in either of two ways and delight because the contest was
equal.

"Yes," he replied slowly, "my looks tell the truth. How did you
know?"

Zahara observed that his curiosity had not yet become actual
interest. She toyed with the silken tassel on her robe, tying and
untying it with quick nervous fingers and resting the while
against the side of the carved chair.

"Perhaps because I am so lonely myself," she said. "I matter to
no one. What I do, where I go, if I live or die. It is all----"

She spread her small hands eloquently and shrugged so that
another white shoulder escaped from the Chinese wrapping.
Thereupon Zahara demurely drew her robe about her with a naive