rest.  The grotesque monster, like a dragon with a dog’s head, which she had seen on her first visit, looked down on her from its bracket.  And she felt as if it welcomed her.  The mashrebeeyeh lattices were closed over the windows, but the sliding doors that gave on to the balcony were pushed back, and let in the light of evening, and a sound of water, and of voices along the Nile.  She sat down on the divan, and almost immediately Hamza came in.

“You are going to show me how to make Turkish coffee, Hamza?” she said, in her lazy and careless voice.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Where shall we do it?”

He pointed towards the raised balcony in the stern.

“Out there!” she said.

She seemed disappointed, but she got up slowly and followed him out.  The awning was spread so that the upper deck was not visible.  When she saw that, the cloud passed away from her face, and as she sat down to receive her lesson, there was a bright and hard eagerness and attention in her eyes and about her lips.

Hamza had already brought a brazier with iron legs, which was protected from the wind by a screen of canvas.  On the polished wood close to it there were a shining saucepan containing water, a brass bowl of freshly roasted and pounded coffee, two small open coffee-pots with handles that stuck straight out, two coffee-cups, a tiny bowl of powdered sugar, and some paper parcels which held sticks of mastic, ambergris, and seed of cardamom.  As soon as Mrs. Armine was seated by the brazier Hamza, whose face looked as if he were quite alone, with slow and almost dainty delicacy and precision proceeded with his task.  Squatting down upon his haunches, with his thin brown legs well under his reed-like body, he poured the water from the saucepan into one of the copper pots, set the pot on the brazier, and seemed to sink into a reverie, with his enigmatic eyes, that took all and gave nothing, fixed on the burning coals.  Mrs. Armine was motionless, watching him, but he never looked at her.  There was something animal in his abstraction.  Presently there came from the pot a murmur.  Instantly Hamza stretched out his hand, took the pot from the brazier and the bowl of coffee from the ground, let some of the coffee slip into the water, stirred it with a silver spoon which he produced from a carefully folded square of linen, and set the pot once more on the brazier.  Then he unfolded the paper which held the ambergris, put a carat weight of it into the second pot and set that, too, on the brazier.  The coffee began to simmer.  He lit a stick of mastic, fumigated with its smoke the two little coffee-cups, took the coffee-pot, and gently poured the fragrant coffee into the pot containing the melted ambergris, let it simmer for a moment there, poured it out into the coffee-cups, creaming and now sending forth with its own warm perfume the enticing perfume of ambergris, added a dash of the cardamom seed, and then, at last, looked towards Mrs. Armine.