“Poor lady! How sad to have to earn one’s bread by such devices, instead of by teaching to the sweet little ones of monsieur the sympathetic grammar of one’s native country.”
Mr. Greyne was touched to the quick by this allusion, which brought, as in a vision, the happy home in Belgrave Square before him.
“You are an angel!” he exclaimed.
Mademoiselle Verbena shook her head.
“And this poor Ouled, you will go to her again?
“Yes. It seems that she is in communication with all the—the—well, all the odd people of Algiers, and that one can only get at them through her.”
“Indeed?”
“Abdallah Jack tells me that while I am here I should pay her a weekly salary, and that, in return, I shall see all the terrible ceremonies of the Arabs. I have decided to do so———
“Ah, you have decided!”
For a moment Mr. Greyne started. There seemed a new sound in Mademoiselle Verbena’s voice, a gleam in her dark brown eyes.