She pointed as she spoke to a scented heap of silk and satin thrown on a chair.

“I had to partly disrobe whilst sitting on the top of the wall, and was terrified in case some pedlar might chance along.  I tied my face and head veil round my waist, but the habarah, that big black cloak—­by the way it belongs to one of my women, and I borrowed it with the excuse that I wanted it copied, mine you see are rather ornamental, as, of course, I never walk in the streets—­well, I threw that on to the ground, tucked up my sebleh, that dressing-gown sort of thing, and scrambled down the other side, as I did not want to jump, ripping the knees of my shintiyan--the wide trouser kind of things we wear------”

Mary’s face was a study.

“Thanks to my borrowed cloak I was able to walk through the streets in comfort—­drawing my burko, face veil, dear, across my face so that only one eye should be seen,[1] and a blue one at that.  When I got to Cairo I hired a car—­speaking in Arabic to the astounded and fluttering Englishman—­drove to the Savoy, where I guessed you’d be—­found you’d moved here—­came here—­and being mistaken for what I am by marriage, namely, a high-born lady of the land, was conducted straightway to you in spite of the invalid—­et voila!”

Mary got up, and crossing to Jill sat down beside her on the couch.

“And what now, Jill?  Hahmed will come and fetch you.”

“Not Hahmed,” said Jill, with a shadow in her eyes as she remembered his parting words after what she had tersely called the flare-up.  “Besides, he trusts me really!” she added as an afterthought, and continued with a note of feverish excitement in her voice:  “So I I’m going to stay with you, Mary, if you’ll let me, until something or another happens to help me make up my mind.  I want to do a lot of sight-seeing, and wear white skirts and a silk jersey and blouse.  I’ll find a maid somewhere, I expect.”

“Oh!” broke in practical Mary, “don’t worry about that—­servants are such a nuisance.  Do you remember Higgins?  Well! she came out with me, and gave me notice the second week—­’couldn’t abide the ’eathen ways’—­and wanted to get back to her home in Vauxhall.  But the proprietor found me a native woman, a perfect treasure, whose one complaint is that she hasn’t enough work to do!”

Silence fell for a time whilst Mary studied the face of her friend, suddenly leaning forward to stroke the pale cheek and pat the little hand.

“You don’t look well, Jillikins!  Are you sure you are happy?”

“Perfectly,” said Jill, turning her face to the cushions and bursting into uncontrollable weeping.

[1]A custom.

CHAPTER XLVI

With short steps the native woman shuffled quickly along the outside of the wall surrounding the house of Hahmed the Arab, stopping in front of the great gates, which were closed at sunset, to peer between the wrought bronze work, standing her ground unconcernedly when a Nubian of gigantic proportions suddenly appeared on the other side.