They were
discussing affairs in Morocco, and as they passed Stephen and Victoria,
the Arab did not appear to turn; yet Stephen knew that he was thinking
of them and not of what he was saying to the clergyman.
"What shall we do?" asked Victoria.
Stephen reflected for an instant. "Will you invite me to dine at your
table?" he asked.
"Maybe they'll tell us it's too late now to have anything to eat. I
don't mind for myself, but for you----"
"We'll have a better dinner than the others have had," Stephen
prophesied. "I guarantee it, if you invite me."
"Oh, do please come," she implored, like a child. "I couldn't face the
waiters alone. And you know, I feel as if you were a friend, now--though
you may laugh at that."
"It's the best compliment I ever had," said Stephen. "And--it gives me
faith in myself--which I need."
"And your star, which you're to find," the girl reminded him, as he
unrolled her from her rug.
"I wish you'd lend me a little of the light from yours, to find mine
by," he said half gaily, yet with a certain wistfulness which she
detected under the laugh.
"I will," she said quickly. "Not a little, but half."
VI
Stephen's prophecy came true. They had a better dinner than any one else
had, and enjoyed it as an adventure. Victoria thought their waiter a
particularly good-natured man, because instead of sulking over his
duties he beamed. Stephen might, if he had chosen, have thrown another
light upon the waiter's smiles; but he didn't choose.
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