that Marie would have to be left behind, for the time, at Luxor.  And then had followed a little scene admirably played by the two women; Mrs. Armine deploring the apparent necessity of their separation, but without undue feeling or any exaggeration; Marie regretting “monsieur’s” determination to carry “une dame si delicate, si fine” into “un monde si terrible, si sauvage,” but at the same time indicating, with a sly intention and the most admirably submissive nuances, the impossibility of her keeping house in the villa alone with a group of Nubians.  Both women had really enjoyed themselves, as talent must when exercising itself with perfect adroitness.  Mrs. Armine had regretted Marie’s decision, while at the same time applauding her maidenly delicatesse, and had presently, by chance, discovered that several charming purchases from Paris were no good to her, that two or three remarkably attractive gowns made her look “like nothing at all,” and that, as she was going to the Fayyum, she “couldn’t be bothered with” some hats that were, as Marie had often said, "plus chic que le diable!” Then a wonderful “character” had been written out, signed, and had changed hands, with an exceedingly generous cheque.  Certain carelessly delivered promises had been made which Marie knew would be kept.  She had given a permanent address in France, and the curtain had slowly fallen.  Ah, the pity of it that there had been no audience!  But talent, like genius, should be its own consolation and reward.

So now Hassan arranged Mrs. Armine’s “things.”  She was thankful that Marie had gone, yet she felt utterly lost without a maid.  Never, since she was a young girl, had she been accustomed to do anything for herself that a good maid could do for her.  And there was not a woman-servant in the house.  She was tired, she was terribly strung up; her nerves were all on edge; her heart was aflame with a jealousy which, she knew too well, was destined to be fanned and not to be assuaged in the days that lay before her.  And she felt profoundly depressed.  It was awful to come home in such a condition in the dead of the night, and to be deprived of all one’s comforts.  When she saw those silver things all laid out wrongly, the brushes pointing this way and that, the combs fixed in them with the teeth upwards, the bottles of perfume laid on their sides instead of standing erect, the powder-boxes upside down, she felt ready to cry her eyes out.  And no one to take away her hat, to loosen and brush her hair, to get her out of her gown, to unlace her shoes!  And Nigel at nine o’clock to-morrow!

The wind roared outside.  One of the hanging wooden shutters that protected the windows had got loose, and was now, at short intervals, striking against the wall with a violent sound that suggested to her a malefactor trying to break in.  She knew what caused the reiterated noise; she knew she could probably stop it by opening the window for a moment and putting out her hand.  And yet she felt afraid to do this, afraid to put out her hand into the windy darkness, lest it should be grasped by another hand.  She was full of nervous fears.