“Margaret” — it was Zayata speaking — “I am glad that you have talked to me tonight. You have been unhappy. So have I. In that, we understand one another.”
“Your trials must have been greater than mine,” Margaret sympathized.
“No. For mine have passed; while yours are yet to come. I have always had a home — and wealth.”
“I have had a home and comfort,” the girl said slowly.
“You have had a home,” corrected Zayata. “But there are reasons why you should not return to it.”
He clapped his hands, and the servant came forward.
“This is Chandra,” declared Zayata. “He is a Burmese. He will obey your commands as he obeys mine. Chandra — open the door of the guest suite!”
Bowing, Chandra advanced to the wall. He pressed an unseen lever. A space opened, and Margaret found herself viewing a miniature apartment every bit as wonderful as the room in which she was sitting.
She arose and went to the entrance. She looked in admiration at the luxurious, comfortable furnishings the beautiful divan, the ornate decorations.
HENRI ZAYATA was speaking. The girl returned to the cushioned seat. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the door of the suite was still open.