Appalled, she clasped it to her.  He had no idea in the world of the shock of that request.  It would be only a faint parallel of its impropriety to suggest to Jinny Jeffries that she discard her frock.  Even Ryder’s acquaintance with Egypt could not tell him how that swift, confident eagerness of his could startle and affront.

“I want to see you so very much,” he was murmuring, and met the chill disdain of her retort, “But it is not for you to see my face, monsieur!”

“Who is to see it?” he demanded.

“Who but the man I am to marry,” she gave distinctly back.

The word hit him like stone.

He was conscious of a shock.  Did she intend to rebuke—­or to imply—­to question his intention?  The steadiness of her low voice suggested a certain steadiness of design....  He had heard of girls who knew their own minds ... girls with unexpectedly far-sighted vision....  Perhaps, poor child, she looked upon him as romantic escape from all that was restrictive in her life.  Secluded women go fast—­when they start.

The devil take him for that kiss!

A somewhat set look upon his thin face guarded the fluctuations of his soul, but the blood rose strongly under his dark skin.

For a moment he did not venture upon a reply, and in that moment he was suddenly aware that she had caught his meaning from him—­and that it was a horrible mistake.  It was one of those instants of highly-charged exchanges of meanings whose revelation was as useless to be denied as powerless to be explained.

Then her words came in tumultuous, passionate refutation of his thought.  “That is what my father had come to tell me—­that he had arranged my marriage.  It is a very splendid thing.  To a general—­a rich general!”

She had not meant to tell him like that!  But for the moment she was savagely glad to hurl it at him.

He made no answer.  His eyes were inscrutably intent.  A variety of things were rearranging themselves in his head.

“You’re—­you’re going to marry him?” he said slowly.

“What else?” But she felt the phrase unfortunate and plunged past it.  “It is not for me to say no, monsieur.  It is for my father to arrange.”

“But his indulgence—?  You were telling me, you know, that he was so fond of you.  And that you were one of the moderns—­the revolting moderns—­”

Jack Ryder’s tone was questioningly cynical and its raillery cut through her brief sham of pride.

“So I thought, too, last night.”  A tinge of infinite disillusionment was in her young voice.  “But it is not so.”

“Then you accept—?”

The shrouded head nodded.

“But you can’t want to,” he broke out with sudden heat.  “You don’t know him at all, do you—­this general?”

“Know him?  I have never seen his face nor heard his voice—­and I would die first,” she added with bitter, helpless fierceness under her breath.