"I am not," murmured Paul. "Your words reach me from a great distance. My spirit is uneasy to-night, and whilst myself I remain in your ivory room and hear you speak another self stands in a vast temple of black gleaming granite before the shrine of a golden bull."
"You are possibly thinking of Apis. From Cairo you have proceeded to Sakkâra. Or are the gaudy hue of my hair and the yeoman proportions of my shape responsible for the idea?"
"I cannot say, nor was I actually thinking of the Serapeum."
"You are not yourself. You have been studying the war news or else you have passed a piebald horse without spitting twice and crossing your fingers."
Paul laughed, but not in the frank boyish way that was so good to hear. "I am not myself, Thessaly, or if I am I do not recognise myself."
"You have committed some indiscretion such as presenting your siren-haired protégée, Flamby Duveen, to your wife."
"I have not," said Paul sharply.
"I am glad. He who presents one pretty woman to another makes two lifelong enemies."
"I did not know that you had met Flamby."
"She has been described to me and she sounds dangerous. I distrust curly-haired girls. They are full of electricity, and electricity is a force of which we know so little. Does the idea of a cocktail appeal to you? I have a man who has invented a new cocktail which he calls 'Fra Diavolo.' Viewed through the eyes of Fra Diavolo you will find the world a more cheery globe."