The Loulia was moored at Keneh, not far from the temple of Denderah.  She had been sent up the river from Assiout, where Baroudi had left her when he had finished his business affairs and was ready to start for Cairo.  It was Nigel’s wish that he and his wife should join her there.

“Denderah was the first temple you and I saw together,” he said.  “Let’s see it more at our leisure.  And let us ask Aphrodite to bless our voyage.”

“Hathor!  What, are you turning pagan?” she said.

He laughed as he looked into her blue eyes.

“Scarcely; but she was the Egyptian Goddess of Beauty, and I don’t think she could deny her blessing to you.”

Then she was looking radiant!

That cold which had made her shudder in the night by the sacred lake had been left in the desolation of Libya.  Surely, it could never come to her here in the golden warmth of Upper Egypt.  She said to herself that she would not shudder again now that she had escaped from that blanched end of the world where desperation had seized her.

The day of departure for the Nile journey had come, and Nigel and she set foot upon the Loulia for the first time as proprietors.

They passed the doors of the servants’ cabins, and came into their own quarters.  Ibrahim followed softly behind with a smiling face, and Hamza, standing still in the sunshine beneath the golden letters, looked after them imperturbably.

Baroudi’s “den” had been swept and garnished.  Flowers and small branches of mimosa decorated it, as if this day were festal.  The writing-table, which had been loaded with papers, was now neat and almost bare.  But all, or nearly all, Baroudi’s books were still in their places.  The marvellous prayer rugs strewed the floor.  Ibrahim had set sticks of incense burning in silver holders.  Upon the dining-room table, beyond the screen of mashrebeeyah work, still stood the tawdry Japanese vase.  And the absurd cuckoo clock uttered its foolish sound to greet them.

“The eastern house!” said Nigel.  “You little thought you would ever be mistress of it, did you, Ruby?  How wonderful these prayer rugs are!  But we must get rid of that vase.”

“Why?” she said hastily, almost sharply.

He looked at her in surprise.

“You don’t mean to say you like it?  Besides, it doesn’t belong to the room.  It’s a false note.”

“Of course.  But it appeals to my sense of humour—­like that ridiculous cuckoo clock.  Don’t let’s change anything.  The incongruities are too delicious.”

“You are a regular baby!” he said.  “All right.  Shall we make Baroudi’s ‘den’ your boudoir?”

She nodded, smiling.

“And you shall use it whenever you like.  And now for the bedrooms!”

“More incongruities,” he said.  “But never mind.  They looked delightfully clean and cosy.”

“Clean and cosy!” she repeated, with a sort of light irony in her beautiful voice.  “Is that all?”