"But I much prefer the creators," she presently said.

"So do I. They are like the fresh air compared with the air in a
carefully closed room," said Craven. "Talking of closed rooms, don't you
think it is strange the liking many brilliant men and women have, both
creators and analysers of creators, for the atmosphere of garish or
sordid cafes?"

"You are thinking of the Cafe Royal?"

"Yes. Do you know it?"

"Don't tell Beryl--but I have never been in it. Nevertheless, I know
exactly what it is like."

"By hearsay?"

"Oh, no. In years gone by I have been into many of the cafes in Paris."

"And did you like them and the life in them?"

"In those days they often fascinated me, as no doubt the Cafe Royal and
its life fascinates Beryl to-day. The hectic appeals to something in
youth, when there is often fever in the blood. Strong lights, noise, the
human pressure of crowds, the sight of myriads of faces, the sound of
many voices--all that represents life to us when we are young. Calm,
empty spaces, single notes, room all round us for breathing amply and
fully, a face here or there--that doesn't seem like life to us then.
Beryl dines with me alone sometimes. But she must finish up in the
evening with a crowd if she is near the door of the place where the