“Billions?” Hosain demanded.

“Trillions,” Dick assured him.

“I didn’t truly realize—”

“Well, perhaps millions,” Dick conceded. “Every hotel guest is assigned a harem—or what amounts to a harem.”

“Other than the actors and directors?”

“Every hotel guest—even travelling salesmen. Why, they tried to send me up a dozen candidates, but Nicole wouldn’t stand for it.”

Nicole reproved him when they were in their room alone. “Why so many highballs? Why did you use your word spic in front of him?”

“Excuse me, I meant smoke. The tongue slipped.”

“Dick, this isn’t faintly like you.”

“Excuse me again. I’m not much like myself any more.”

That night Dick opened a bathroom window, giving on a narrow and tubular court of the château, gray as rats but echoing at the moment to plaintive and peculiar music, sad as a flute. Two men were chanting in an Eastern language or dialect full of k’s and l’s—he leaned out but he could not see them; there was obviously a religious significance in the sounds, and tired and emotionless he let them pray for him too, but what for, save that he should not lose himself in his increasing melancholy, he did not know.

Next day, over a thinly wooded hillside they shot scrawny birds, distant poor relations to the partridge. It was done in a vague imitation of the English manner, with a corps of inexperienced beaters whom Dick managed to miss by firing only directly overhead.

On their return Lanier was waiting in their suite.

“Father, you said tell you immediately if we were near the sick boy.”

Nicole whirled about, immediately on guard.

“—so, Mother,” Lanier continued, turning to her, “the boy takes a bath every evening and to-night he took his bath just before mine and I had to take mine in his water, and it was dirty.”

“What? Now what?”

“I saw them take Tony out of it, and then they called me into it and the water was dirty.”

“But—did you take it?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Heavens!” she exclaimed to Dick.

He demanded: “Why didn’t Lucienne draw your bath?”

“Lucienne can’t. It’s a funny heater—it reached out of itself and burned her arm last night and she’s afraid of it, so one of those two women—”

“You go in this bathroom and take a bath now.”

“Don’t say I told you,” said Lanier from the doorway.

Dick went in and sprinkled the tub with sulphur; closing the door he said to Nicole:

“Either we speak to Mary or we’d better get out.”

She agreed and he continued: “People think their children are constitutionally cleaner than other people’s, and their diseases are less contagious.”

Dick came in and helped himself from the decanter, chewing a biscuit savagely in the rhythm of the pouring water in the bathroom.

“Tell Lucienne that she’s got to learn about the heater—” he suggested. At that moment the Asiatic woman came in person to the door.

“El Contessa—”

Dick beckoned her inside and closed the door.

“Is the little sick boy better?” he inquired pleasantly.

“Better, yes, but he still has the eruptions frequently.”

“That’s too bad—I’m very sorry. But you see our children mustn’t be bathed in his water. That’s out of the question—I’m sure your mistress would be furious if she had known you had done a thing like that.”

“I?” She seemed thunderstruck. “Why, I merely saw your maid had difficulty with the heater—I told her about it and started the water.”

“But with a sick person you must empty the bathwater entirely out, and clean the tub.”

“I?”

Chokingly the woman drew a long breath, uttered a convulsed sob and rushed from the room.

“She mustn’t get up on western civilization at our expense,” he said grimly.

At dinner that night he decided that it must inevitably be a truncated visit: about his own country Hosain seemed to have observed only that there were many mountains and some goats and herders of goats. He was a reserved young man—to draw him out would have required the sincere effort that Dick now reserved for his family. Soon after dinner Hosain left Mary and the Divers to themselves, but the old unity was split—between them lay the restless social fields that Mary was about to conquer. Dick was relieved when, at nine-thirty, Mary received and read a note and got up.

“You’ll have to excuse me. My husband is leaving on a short trip— and I must be with him.”

Next morning, hard on the heels of the servant bringing coffee, Mary entered their room. She was dressed and they were not dressed, and she had the air of having been up for some time. Her face was toughened with quiet jerky fury.

“What is this story about Lanier having been bathed in a dirty bath?”

Dick began to protest, but she cut through:

“What is this story that you commanded my husband’s sister to clean Lanier’s tub?”

She remained on her feet staring at them, as they sat impotent as idols in their beds, weighted by their trays. Together they exclaimed: “His SISTER!”

“That you ordered one of his sisters to clean out a tub!”

“We didn’t—” their voices rang together saying the same thing, “— I spoke to the native servant—”