but without the slightest effect. When I lowered the blind, he merely glanced up at the sky to see whether the sun could possibly be worrying me, after which he continued serenely to part his hair. On the whole I rather like him. He possesses a natural arrogance which attracts me, a certain conceit which I envy him; I think he is what I should call a fascinating rascal. I'll try to find out who he is and what he is.
To-morrow night Suleima. How lovely to go to bed with the knowledge that there is something delicious in store for me the next day. Suleima, oh, that I were Suleima! That I were the bride of a handsome Arab chief, and could lie with my beloved near the singing brook under the tall palm-tree, or could fly with him on his fiery horse over the wide plain under a radiant sky. Good-night, Suleima, I will dream I am in your place.
'SULEIMA' was a disappointment. Yet the music was beautiful—sensuously drowsy, passionately exultant, so wondrously free from moral scruples.
But only one scene made an impression on me. Suleima lies down to rest in her father's tent, when an hostile Arab tribe breaks into the camp, and the chief, lifting Suleima from her couch, bears her away with him. Suleima has been dreaming, and the abduction must be imagined to be a continuation of her dream. She sees the white-robed
