“She’s gone.”

“Gone!”

He looked at the confusion of the room, at the clothes strewn on the furniture and the floor.

“Now I understand all that,” he said.  “But what was the matter?  Did she steal something, or—­perhaps I ought to have had another woman in the house.”

“No, no; it wasn’t that.  I sent her away quite amicably; because I thought she’d be in our way in the Fayyum.  What could we do with her in a tent?”

“You’re going to manage without a maid?”

A radiant look of pleasure came into his face.

“You’re a trump!” he said.

He bent down, put his hands gently on her shoulders, and gave her a long kiss.

“And this is how you’re managing!” he added, lifting himself up, and speaking with a sort of tender humour as again he looked at the room.  “I must learn to maid you.”

And he went about rather clumsily getting the things together, picking them up by the wrong end, and laying them in a heap on the sofa.

“Ill do better another time,” he said, when he had finished, rather ruefully surveying his handiwork.  “And now I’ll call Hassan and get tea, and while we’re having it I’ll tell you about our camp in the Fayyum.  To think of your giving up your maid!”

He kissed her again, with a lingering tenderness, and went out.

As soon as he was gone she got up.  She had to search for a wrapper.  She did not know where any of her things were.  How maddening it was to be without a maid!  More than once, now that Nigel was back and she could not go to Baroudi, she almost wished that she had kept Marie.  Would it have been very unwise to keep her?  She pulled out drawer after drawer.  She was quite hot and tired before she had found what she wanted.  What would life be like in a tent?  She almost sickened at the thought of all that was before her.  Ah! here was the wrapper at last.  She tore it out from where it was lying with reckless violence, and put it on anyhow; then suddenly her real nature, the continuous part of her, asserted itself.  She went to the mirror and adjusted it very carefully, very deftly.  Then she twisted up her hair simply, and considered herself for a moment.

Had the new truth stamped itself yet upon her face, her body?

She saw before her a woman strongly, strikingly alive, thrilling with life.  The eyes, released from sleep, were ardent, were full of the promises of passion; the lips were fresh, surely, and humid; the figure was alluring and splendid; the wonderful line of the neck had kept all its beauty.  She had grown younger in Egypt, and she knew very well why.  For her the new truth was clearly stamped, but not for Nigel.  He would read it wrongly; he would take it for himself, as so many deceived men from the beginning of time have taken the truths of women, thinking “All this is for me.”  She looked long at herself, and she rejoiced in the vital change that had come