“Well, I mean—­”

“I know.  Come along.”

They opened the doors and looked into each gay and luxurious little room.  And as Mrs. Armine went from one to another, she was aware of the soft and warm sensation that steals over a woman returning to the atmosphere which thoroughly suits her, and from which she has long been exiled.  Here she could be in her element, for here money had been lavishly spent to create something unique.  She felt certain that no dahabeeyah on the Nile was so perfect as the Loulia.  Every traveller upon the river would be obliged to envy her.  For a moment she secretly revelled in that thought; then she remembered something; her face clouded, her lips tightened, and she strove to chase from her mind that desire to be envied by other women.

Nigel and she must avoid the crowds that gather on the Nile in the spring.  They must tie up in the unfrequented places.  Had she not reiterated to him her wish to “get away from people,” to see only the native life on the river?  Those “other women” must wait to be envious, and she, too, must wait.  She stifled an impatient sigh, and opened another door.  After one swift glance within, she said: 

“I will have this cabin, Nigel.”

“All right, darling.  Anything you like.  But let’s have a look.”

For a moment she did not move.

“Don’t be selfish, Ruby!”

She felt fingers touching her waist at the back, gripping her with a sort of tender strongness; and she closed her eyes, and tried to force herself to believe they were Baroudi’s fingers of iron.

“Or I shall pick you up and lift you out of the way.”

When Nigel spoke again, she opened her eyes.  It was no use.  She was not to have that illusion.  She set her teeth and put her hands behind her, feeling for his fingers.  Their hands met, clasped.  She fell back, and let him look in.

“Why, this must be Baroudi’s cabin!” he said.

“I dare say.  But what I want it for is the size.  Don’t you see, it’s double the size of the others,” she said, carelessly.

“So it is.  But they are ever so much gayer.  This is quite Oriental, and the bed’s awfully low.”

He bent down and felt it.

“It’s a good one, though.  Trust Baroudi for that.  Well, dear, take it; I’ll turn in next door.  We can easily talk through the partition”—­he paused, then added in a lower voice—­“when we are not together.  Now there’s the other sitting-room to see and then shall we be off to Denderah with Hamza, while Ibrahim sees to the arrangement of everything?”

“Yes.  Or—­shall we leave the other room till we come back, till it’s getting twilight?  I don’t think I want to see quite everything just at once.”

“You’re becoming a regular child, saving up your pleasure.  Then we’ll start for Denderah now.”

“Yes.”