And he no longer had the desire to know desire of sin. He no longer
sought to understand the power of temptation or the joy of yielding to
that power. A subtle change swept over him. Whether it was permanent, or
only passing, he could not tell.
A tingling cry from the electric bell in the passage told of Julian's
arrival, and in a moment he entered. He looked gay, almost rowdy, and
clapped Valentine on the shoulder rather boisterously.
"Why on earth are you in here?" he exclaimed. "Have you been playing?"
"No."
"Are you in an exalted state of mind, that demands the best parlour for
its environment?"
"Hardly."
"But why then have you let out the fire in the den and enthroned yourself
here?"
"A whim, Julian. I felt a strong inclination to sit in this room
to-night. It seems to me a less nervous room than the other, and I
want to be as cold-blooded as possible."
"O, I see! But, my dear fellow, what is there nervous about the tent?
Do you imagine ghosts lurking in the hangings, or phantoms of dead Arabs
clinging, like bats, round that rosette in the roof? You got it up the
Nile, didn't you?"
"Yes. Where have you been?"
"Dining out. And, oddly enough, I met Marr again, the man I told you
about.
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