A few weeks after Raife's unfortunate interference in a Nubian's
domestic affairs at Khartoum, he was reclining amid soft cushions on the
piazza of Shepheard's Hotel at Cairo.
There may be no women in Khartoum--at least, there was one, who, being
in trouble herself, made trouble for Raife--but there are women at
Cairo. Just what the attraction is, no one really knows. It is hot and
dusty. There are flies, mosquitoes, and plenty of other irritating
little things in Cairo. But Shepheard's Hotel is generally full of
visitors, and there is a predominance of gaily and richly-dressed women.
They come from all countries and speak many languages. The language
that one hears more than any is that of the United States of America.
Americans do not, individually, stay longer, but there are more of them,
therefore the supply is greater. Further, the American woman is a good
talker; that is, she talks quickly and talks quite a good deal. There
are several of them who talk very well.
Exclusiveness used to be the prerogative of the English to a greater
extent than most other countries. As the English are becoming less
exclusive, so American women are cultivating the habit. The new
generation of American women have cultivated, almost inherited, a score
or more of little habits, mannerisms--perhaps affectations, which are
quite charming to the impressionable young English person. There is a
certain _gaucherie_ about the English which, in turn, retains a charm
for the American woman. They would openly hate one another if it were
not for these peculiarities, which make the one interesting to the
other.
The limelight of publicity has always been turned on to the American boy
and girl from infancy. For that reason they have never suffered from
shyness. Until recently there has been an excess of privacy in the
lives of the English of most ages. That has been altered, and now there
are English girls who can rock a chair level with any girl from Kentucky
to California.
Of course, the voice question had almost as much vogue as the colour
question. That, in turn, has been altered. There are as many soft
contraltos, or, at least, mezzo-sopranos coming from the United States
as from England nowadays. Altogether, there is less need for antagonism
and more need for good fellowship between the United States and Great
Britain, than at any period since "The Great Misunderstanding" of a
hundred years ago. This helps to explain the circumstances of the very
rapid friendship that had sprung up between Sir Raife Remington, Bart.,
of Aldborough Park, and Miss Hilda Muirhead, the daughter of Reginald
Pomeroy Muirhead, Esq., President of the Fifth State Bank of Illinois,
U.S.A.
In writing of Americans it has ever been customary to allude to their
wealth, of which many people possess an exaggerated estimate. The
successful American is, frequently, very generous, and it is from that
freedom and generosity that the exaggerated notion springs.
Mr Reginald Pomeroy Muirhead was not a very wealthy man, but he was a
prosperous man, and a generous man, a fine and courtly type of the
American banker.
His daughter, Hilda, who had formed such a rapid friendship with Raife
Remington, on the piazza--the balcony--in the drawing-room--on the
staircase--in the foyer--or any of those places where friendships are
made abroad, calls for more description.
Hilda Muirhead was not more than twenty. In some respects she had the
knowledge and experience of a woman of thirty. In other respects she
was a simple _ingenue_, with the attractive grace of a gazelle-like
child. The latter was her natural mood and attitude. The former had
been acquired and thrust upon her by the bitterness of cruel experience
at an immature period of her life.
She had a gift of talk, and the charm of her conversation won for her
the attention which invariably ended in admiration. Many girls, of any
nationality, do not realise the value of natural and intellectual
conversation. Her father had seen to it that Hilda did. Hilda's mother
died in her infancy, leaving Hilda an only child of a devoted and gentle
parent.
Hilda's appearance was striking in the extreme, and if she had been of
the "abounding" type who flaunt themselves for admiration, she would
have, in an obsolete vernacular, "swept the board." Her restraint and
lack of self-consciousness were an addition to her charm.
Her hair was a glory to behold. Few had seen the full extent of that
glory of her womanhood. Her old nigger "mammy" was almost the only one
who had seen it in its full maturity. Her face had an indefinable
irregularity of contour, and showed the southern blood in her veins.
Her eyes were only large when she opened them under some strong emotion.
They were not of that pertinacious, staring type, that are aggressively
anxious to attract on all occasions. Her eyes were grey, and
constructed for the purpose of normal sight and restrained emotion--but
they were beautiful eyes.
The form of her lips had not been moulded into beauty by an assumed
pout, nor were they distorted by youthful grimace. They were just
wholesome lips, that helped her to talk, and laugh and sing. The rest
of her face was in perfect harmony. It was not classical on the lines
of a Grecian statue, nor an Italian Madonna. It was a modern,
fascinating, yet dignified face.
A broken arm or a bandaged wound invariably attract attention and
sympathy, especially from women. Raife's bandaged shoulder, which
necessitated that the right sleeve should remain empty, attracted the
attention of the women at Shepheard's Hotel. His Apollo-like appearance
added to the effect when he arrived. In addition to the side glances in
his direction, as he reclined on a long wicker chair, shaded from the
hot sun which streamed from above, he had to endure the bold stares of
the more brazen-faced. At this time, Raife had suffered from two women,
and he was, for the present, at least, a woman-hater. He, therefore,
refused to notice any of the glances that he received, whatever their
nature might be. The balcony piazza and foyer of an hotel are very like
the deck of an ocean steamer, and it is not possible for an invalid to
resist the advances of those who wish to be polite and render aid.
Raife and Hilda Muirhead met in such a manner. The foyer was almost
deserted, and Raife dropped his book just out of reach. Hilda Muirhead
and her father were passing. Hilda darted forward and restored the book
to Raife, who thanked her.