“Let me out,” she said.

Nigel drew back, and she stepped out upon the balcony, where Baroudi was leaning upon the railing, looking over the sunlit Nile.  He turned round slowly and very calmly to meet her, moving with the almost measured ease of the very supple and strong man, drew forward a basket chair, arranged a cushion for her politely, but rather carelessly, and not at all cleverly, and said, as she sat down: 

“You like the heart of my Eastern house?”

“How do you manage the fountain?” she asked.

He embarked upon a clear and technical explanation, but when he had said a very few words, she stopped him.

“Please don’t!  You are spoiling my whole impression.  I oughtn’t to have asked.”

“Baroudi is a very practical man,” said Nigel.  “I only wish I had him as my overseer in the Fayyum.”

“If I can ever give you advice I shall be very glad,” said Baroudi.  “I know all about agriculture in my country.”

Mrs. Armine leaned back, and looked at the broad river, upon which there were many native boats creeping southward with outspread sails, at the columns of the great Temple of Luxor standing up boldly upon the eastern bank, at the cloud of palm-trees northward beyond the village, at the far-off reaches of water, at the bare and precipitous hills that keep the deserts of Libya.  At all these features of the landscape she looked with eyes that seemed to be new.

“Talk about agriculture to my husband, Mahmoud Baroudi,” she said.  “Forget I am here, both of you.”

“But—­”

“Pas de compliments! This is my first visit to a dahabeeyah.  Your Nile is making me dream.  If only the sailors were singing!”

“They shall sing.”

He went up a few steps, and looked over the upper deck; then he called out some guttural words.  Almost instantly the throb of the daraboukkeh was audible, and then a nasal cry:  “Al-lah!”

“And now—­talk about agriculture!”

Baroudi turned away to Nigel, and began to talk to him in a low voice, while Mrs. Armine sat quite still, always watching the Nile, and always listening to the sailors singing.  Presently tea was brought, but even then she preserved, smiling, her soft but complete detachment.

“Go on talking,” she said.  “You don’t know how happy I am.”

She looked at her husband, and added: 

“I am drinking Nile water to-day.”

Into his face there came a strong look of joy, which stirred irony in the deeps of her nature.  He did not say anything to her, but in a moment he renewed his conversation with Baroudi, energetically, vivaciously, with an ardour which she had deliberately given him, partly out of malice, but partly also to gain for herself a longer lease of tranquillity.  For she had spoken the truth.  She was drinking Nile water to-day, and she wanted to drink more deeply.