THE LAST ARABIAN NIGHT 511

same gramophone records, books, magazines, bottles,
fancy boxes, fruit, and glasses all over the place, the
same two big shaded lamps. He shook to see it there,
solid, real. He did not sit down, but stood in the middle
of the room, holding his hat, glancing quickly, ncr\ousl>,
at this thing and that.

"Hel-/o.;" cried Lena gaily in the doorway. Then tht
sound was cut short. He turned to lace her.

"Oh!" she cried, staring at him. "It's you/' And
her face fell, her voice dropped.

He tried to say something.

"Do you want to see my father about something?1'
she demanded.

"No, I don't. I want to see you—Lena."

"What do you want to see me about?"

"Oh!—you know, Lena. Everything.

She came forward a little now. UI don't know. My
father will be coming back soon—any minute."

"He won't/' he told her sullenly.

"How do you know he won't? You don't know any-
thing about it!"

"I do, I know where he is, and I know he won't be
back for some time/'

"Yes, you would! That's why you're here. You've
been spying and following me about, haven't you?
Making me look a fool! Jon look a fool too, let me tell
you that, a nasty fool."

"Well, what if I have? I wanted to see you."

"Well, I didn't want to see you," she cried, furious
now. "And you ought to have known I didn't. You
can't take a hint. I told you as plainly as I could I didn't
want to see you any more."

"Lena, why don't you?"