CHAPTER XXXIV

Jill had been married a fortnight.  Everything down to the minutest detail had passed off perfectly, everything had been duly signed and sealed and conducted in the most orthodox and binding manner, leaving the witnesses breathless at the thought of the land, jewels, houses, and cattle with which Hahmed the Arab endowed this woman who brought him nothing excepting beauty, which was not exactly beauty, but rather colouring, plus brain and charm.

Not even love had she brought it seemed, or obedience, for had not her lord and master uncomplainingly allowed her to keep the door of her apartments closed, neither had he insisted on the dyeing of her golden hair to that henna shade, of which so much is thought in the land of black hirsute coverings.

The feasting and rejoicings of the past ten days had surpassed anything ever dreamt of on the banks of the Nile.

There had been tournaments and exhibitions of strength and agility and horsemanship in the day, and dancing by the most famous dancers in the land by night—­dances, let me tell you, in spite of what you gather by hearsay or ocular proof in such cesspools as Port Said and kindred towns, which were lessons in modesty compared to that blush-producing exercise called the Tango and its descendants.

The harem was a cage of excited love-birds to whom were duly brought detailed accounts of the nightly and daily doings.  Never had there been such a commotion within the somewhat over-decorated walls, nor had the great mirrors reflected such sheen of wondrous silks, and satins, and flashing jewels; whilst sweetmeats, coffee, and cool drinks were the order of the day for the sustenance and refreshment of the never-ending stream of high-born ladies, who from far and near and in all kinds of covered vehicles hastened with the excuse of greeting the wife of the great Arab, to gather first hand delectable morsels of gossip anent her strange methods of procedure, and her master’s still stranger leniency towards her.

“Truly,” remarked Fatima (which is not her real name), the thirteen-year-old and latest addition to the harem, and therefore favourite of the old Sheikh, as for the eighth time she changed her costume, and with the tip of her henna pink finger skilfully removed a too liberal application of kohl from about her right and lustrous eye, whilst chatting with her maid.  “Truly, I say, the man is either besotted with love, or suffering from some strange malady.  Nigh upon the passage of ten days and nights, and yet he bends not the woman to his will, and she more luscious than a peach from the southern wall.  Thinkest thou it’s love, oh Fuddja?  And thinkest thou the whiteness of my bosom shows to advantage against the gold of my neckband?”

CHAPTER XXXV