Mrs. Armine’s hands dropped from the arms of the chair, as she turned towards the glass.

“Baroudi!” she said, as if the name meant nothing to her.  “Why do you string one up for nothing, Nigel?”

She took up a powder-puff.

“Do you mean the man on the Hohenzollern?  What has he to do with us?”

Nigel crossed the room, and sat down on a chair by the side of the toilet-table, facing his wife and holding in his lap the bundle of letters and papers.

“Are you disappointed, Ruby?”

“No, because we don’t need any one.  But you roused my expectation, and then played a cold douche upon it, you tiresome person!”

There was a sort of muffled crossness in her voice, but as she passed the powder-puff over her face her eyes and her lips were smiling.  Nigel leaned his arm upon the table.

“Ruby,” he said.

“Well—­what is it?”

She stopped powdering.

“I wish you wouldn’t do—­all that.”

“All what?”

“All those things to your face.  You are beautiful.  I wish you would leave your face alone.”

“I do, practically.  I only try to save it a little from the sun.  You wouldn’t have me look like the wife of one of what Ibrahim calls ’the fellaheen peoples,’ would you?”

“I want you to look as natural and simple as you always are with me.  I don’t mean that you are simple in mind, of course.  I am speaking of your manner.”

“My dear Nigel, who is affected nowadays?  But I really mustn’t look like the fellaheen peoples.  Ibrahim would be shocked.”

Nevertheless, she put the powder-puff down.

“You don’t trust your own beauty, Ruby,” he said.

She sat back and looked at him very gravely, as if his remark had made a strong impression upon her.  Then she looked into the mirror, then she looked again at him.

“You think I should be wise to trust it as much as that?”

“Of course you would.”

He laid his hand on hers.

“You are blossoming here in Egypt, but you hardly let one know it when you put things on your face.”

She gazed again into the glass in silence.

“Any letters for me?” she said, at last.

“I haven’t looked yet.  I walked with Baroudi on the bank.  He’s joined his dahabeeyah, and is going up to Armant to see to his affairs in the sugar business up there.”

“Oh!”

“I believe he only stays till to-morrow or Wednesday.  He invited me to go over to his boat and have a look at it this afternoon.”

“Are you going?”

“I told him I’d let him know.  Shall I go?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I should like to see the boat, but—­you see, he’s half an Oriental, and perhaps he didn’t think it was the proper thing to do, but—­”

“He didn’t invite me.  Why should he?  Go, Nigel.  You want a man’s society sometimes.  You mustn’t always sit in my pocket.  And besides, you’re just off to the Fayyum.  I must get accustomed to an occasional lonely hour.”