"What's that?" said Crayford.
"My husband is away."
Crayford's lips pursed themselves. For a moment he looked like a man who finds he has been "had." In that moment Charmian knew that his real reason in "running over" to North Africa had certainly been the opera. She did not suppose he had acknowledged this to Lake, or ever would acknowledge it to anyone. But she was quite certain of it.
"Gone to England?" asked Crayford, carelessly.
"Oh, no. He's been working too hard, and run away by himself for a little holiday to a place near here, Hammam R'rirha. He'll be sorry to miss you. I know how busy you always are, so I suppose you'll only stay a day or two."
Crayford's keen eyes suddenly fastened upon her.
"Yes, I haven't too much time," he remarked drily.
They all sat down, and again Crayford looked around, stretching out his short and muscular legs.
"Cute, and no mistake!" he observed, with a sigh, as he pulled at the tiny beard. "Think of living here now! Pity I'm not a composer, eh, Alston?"
He ended with a laugh.