Zenobia is mine, and yours too, if you will be good. We shall resuscitate the glory of the kingdom of the desert.”
To all of which Khalid acquiesces by referring as is his wont to the infinite wisdom of Allah, in whose all-seeing eye nothing is impossible.
And thus, apparently satisfied, he takes the cigarette which she had lighted for him, and lights for her another from his own. But the smoke of two cigarettes dispels not the threatening cloud; it only conceals it from view.
For they dine together at a Bohemian Club that evening, where Khalid meets a woman of rare charms. And she invites him to her studio.
The Medium, who is at first indifferent, finally warns her callow child. “That woman is a writer,” she explains, “and writers are always in search of what they call ‘copy.’ She in particular is a huntress of male curiosities, originales , whom she takes into her favour and ultimately surrenders them to the reading public. So be careful.”
But Khalid hearkens not. For the writer, whom he afterwards calls a flighter, since she, too, “like the van of the brewer only skims the surface of things,” is, in fact, younger than the Medium. Ay, this woman is even beautiful—to behold, at least.
So the Dervish, a captive of her charms, knocks at the door of her studio one evening and enters. Ah, this then is a studio! “I am destined to know everything, and to see everything,” he says to himself, smiling in his heart.
The charming hostess, in a Japanese kimono receives him somewhat orientally, offering him the divan, which he occupies alone for a spell.
He is then laden with a huge scrapbook containing press notices and reviews of her many novels. These, he is asked to go through while she prepares the tea. Which is a mortal task for the Dervish in the presence of the Enchantress.