Under the pleasant conditions of Raife's life at Shepheard's Hotel, his
dagger wound rapidly healed, and he was again able to resume an active
life. Hilda Muirhead was trained to that freedom of action which
belongs to the American bred. The excessive chaperonage which is
customary in Europe does not belong to the United States. Mr Muirhead
was an indulgent father, and he, feeling safe as to Raife's credentials,
was not in the mood to spoil the sport of young people. He remembered
the days of his own courting on the beautiful countryside outside the
high cliffs which overshadow the city of Cincinnati. Raife did not even
now realise that he was courting. He was perfectly satisfied that he
was merely having a good time and amusing himself. He and Hilda made
excursions together. They visited bazaars and purchased all sorts of
trifles, some of which were cheap and some were not, for an American
girl has expensive tastes.
Heluan is about half an hour's train ride from Cairo, and here, sitting
in the shade outside the hotel, Raife and Hilda for the first time
disclosed to themselves that their attraction for one another was not
entirely platonic. The pretty little town pitched in the desert was
singularly quiet. They had talked of many things and their conversation
was rarely flippant, and they both possessed the faculty of enjoying
silence when there was nothing of importance to say. In this remote
little town, the silent spirit of the vast desert encouraged this mood.
After some minutes of such contemplation Hilda remarked to him "Raife,
tell me what is a woman-hater?" She had accepted his invitation to call
him "just Raife" right from the time when that invitation was extended.
Raife started, and his bronzed cheeks suffused with a scarlet tinge.
Had she heard him talking to himself that night on the balcony? Was she
the woman with the white shawl whom he caught a glimpse of on the
balcony beneath? These thoughts crowded on him as he stammered an
evasive reply. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"
Hilda, with characteristic candour, said: "I overheard some man talking
one night and he said, `I am a woman-hater.'"
Their conversations on many subjects had been singularly open and free,
and Raife now felt that he must disclose some of his career, so with a
responsive candour he said: "Hilda, it was I whom you must have heard
that night. I felt that I hated a woman, and I had every reason to do
so. I had fancied that I loved her, and she, with an abominable old
uncle, was conspiring to ruin me. Yes. I was a woman-hater, and I came
out here and started on my big-game expedition to get away from women."
Hilda's face wore a puzzled and pained expression, and for some time she
made no reply. Then she spoke tremulously. "Raife, I am so sorry. To
think I have been in your way all this time, and I thought that we had
been such good friends."
He stopped her abruptly. "Hilda! Hilda! don't talk like that. The
woman I hated is a wicked, harmful woman. You are the embodiment of all
that is pure and beautiful in womanhood. Your sweet influence has
softened my bitterness and restored my mind to its normal state!"