near the fountain a hypnotic hand had been laid upon her, as if it had not yet been removed.  Really she was already captured by the dahabeeyah spell, although she did not know it.  A dahabeeyah is the home of dreams, and of a deeply quiet physical well-being.  Mrs. Armine was a very sensuous woman, and sensitive to all sensuous impressions; so now, while her husband talked eagerly, enthusiastically, of the life of activity and work, she received from the Nile its curious gift of bodily indolence and stillness.  Her body never moved, never wished to move, in the deep and cushioned chair, was almost like a body morphia-stricken; but her mind was alert, and judging the capacities of these two men.  And still it was seeking secretly the answer to a “Why?” when Nigel at length exclaimed: 

“Anyhow, I meant to get off by the train to-morrow night.  And you?  When are you starting up the river?”

“I have a tug.  I go away to-night.”

“To Armant?”

“To Armant for some days.  Then I go farther up the river.  I have interests near Kom Ombos.  I shall be away some time, and then drop down to Assiout.  I have nothing more to do here.”

“Interests in Assiout, too?”

“Oh, yes; at Assiout I have a great many.  And just beyond here I have some—­a little way up the river on the western bank.”

“Lands?”

“I have orange-gardens there.”

“I wonder you can manage to look after it all—­sugar, cotton, quarries, house property, works, factories.  Phew!  It almost makes one’s head spin.  And you see into everything yourself!”

“Where the master’s eye does not look, the servant’s is turned away.  Do you not find it so in the Fayyum?”

“I shall know in two or three days.”

Nigel suddenly looked round at his wife.

“I hear you,” she said, slowly.  “You had forgotten all about me, but I was listening to you.”

She moved, and sat straight up, putting her hands on the broad cushioned arms of the chair.

“I was receiving a lesson,” she added.

“A lesson, Ruby?” said Nigel.

“A lesson in humility.”

Both men tried to make her explain exactly what she meant, but she would not satisfy their curiosity.

“You have brains enough to guess,” was all she said.

“We must be going, Nigel.  Look! it is nearly sunset.  Soon the river will be turning golden.”

As she said the last word, she looked at Baroudi, and her voice seemed to linger on the word as on a word beloved.

“Won’t you stay and see the sunset from here, madame?” he said.

“I am sure you have lots to do.  I have been listening to some purpose, and I know you are a man of affairs, and can have very little time for social nonsense, such as occupies the thoughts of women.  I feel almost guilty at having taken up even one of your hours.”

Nigel thought there was in her voice a faint sound as if she were secretly aggrieved.