Perched on the make-shift saddle of a baggage-camel at an apparently
break-neck height above the ground, Muriel still had the feeling that
she was playing an elaborate game as she jogged along beside Daniel's
taller and more magnificent beast, with its gaily coloured tassels and
trappings, and its rich white sheepskin upon which its rider was seated.
Behind them rode a black-bearded son of the desert, with a white
_bernous_ over his head, silver-mounted pistols stuck into his sash, and
a rifle slung over his shoulders. Daniel was holding her guiding-rope,
and her two hands were therefore free, as she bounced up and down, to
cling on to the sides of the saddle--a circumstance for which she was
grateful, although it caused her to feel like a captive being led into
slavery.
At the gate of the hotel her companion's camel knelt at a word from him,
and he dismounted; but in her own case her less accustomed mount was not
so easily induced to go down on its knees, and startled by its antics,
she recklessly slid from the saddle and hung for a moment at its side,
her legs kicking about in the air. A moment later she tumbled into
Daniel's arms, and presently found herself deposited, like a piece of
baggage, upon the doorstep, in front of Mrs. Bindane, who happened to be
standing in the entrance bullying the hall porter.
"Hullo," said Kate, casually, "the washing's come home."
Muriel felt herself all over carefully, as though to make sure that her
anatomy was still reasonably complete, and then, linking her arm in that
of her friend, described to her the day's strenuous events; while
Daniel, feeling that his presence was not required during these
confidences, went over to his attendant to give him his instructions.
"My dear," said Muriel enthusiastically, "we've made a lovely camp out
there. It's like a story out of the _Arabian Nights_."
Kate Bindane looked at her suspiciously. "Well, you be careful of those
stories," she said. "They generally need a lot of expurgation before
they're fit for family reading. Isn't this the man you told me kept a
harim in the desert?"
"So they say," she answered. "Anyway he's evidently given it up."
"He'll soon collect another," her friend replied. "I expect that's the
Grand Chief Eunuch he's talking to now."
"Did you get my note?" asked Muriel, anxious to change the subject.
"Yes," she smiled, "and your esteemed orders received the prompt
attention of our Mr. Bindane, who 'phoned your papa, and ordered the
car, and made himself quite useful."
After the tragic death of Rupert Helsingham, four weeks ago, Kate
Bindane had taken a gloomy aversion to their steamer, and had persuaded
her husband to get rid of it, and to come out to this hotel on the edge
of the desert. Muriel had, on more than one occasion, spent the night
here with them in their comfortable suite of rooms; and now as she said
"good-bye," she made arrangements for future meetings and visits, while
Daniel, in a spasm of hospitality, suggested that they should make use
of his camp as an occasional halting-place.
"During the day, while I'm at work in Cairo," he said, "you can make use
of my tents. I'll tell my servant to look after you."
Kate Bindane laughed. "O, come now," she answered, "that's driving your
birds right over my gun. It makes shooting too easy."
Daniel was perplexed. "What d'you mean?" he asked, as he seated himself
beside Muriel in the car.
"Well," said Mrs. Bindane, "you've got the reputation of being a bit
short with your fellow men; but to say you'll be glad to entertain us
provided that you yourself are not there is the limit."
Muriel turned to Daniel. "She's only joking," she assured him; "that's
her way."
Kate uttered an exclamation. "Oh, you little swine!" she said to Muriel.
"You're on _his_ side now!"
"No, I'm not," Muriel protested, hastily, and the colour came into her
face.
Daniel looked from one to the other. "I don't know what you're talking
about," he said. "I'm all at sea."
The car moved away, and Muriel sat back in her corner luxuriously. She
was very tired, and her feet ached. She was happy to find that she no
longer felt awkward in this man's presence, and that her feminine
intuition had not deserted her, for she seemed to have learned the trick
of managing him. It was only necessary to make herself useful to him, to
roll her sleeves up and show a little muscle, and his antagonism
evaporated. He was prehistoric--that was all; and yet she could not
associate the idea of brutality with him. No, she had not quite
classified him; but at any rate she realized that she had probably been
wrong in regarding him as being contemptuous of her sex. He was only
contemptuous of uselessness.
She glanced at him as he sat in silence by her side, and she noticed
that his expression had become grave, and even sad.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "You look unhappy."
He aroused himself, and smiled; but his eyes were troubled.
"Yes, I feel a bit blue," he said. "I suppose it's the thought of my new
job."
"I'm rather surprised," she commented, "that you have taken it on. Why
did you?"
He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I thought it was my duty," he said.
"You see I happen to speak Arabic as fluently as I speak English, and
I've made a study of the native mind. I understand these fellows and
they understand me; and Egypt just now is craving for understanding."
"You've got a lot to live up to," she told him. "My father thinks you
are going to be the saving of the country. I'm always hearing your
praises sung."
He looked gravely at her. "You call to my mind," he said, "the prayer of
Abu-Bakr, the first Khalif. When he heard that people were praising him,
he used to say something like this: 'O God, Thou knowest me better than
I know myself, and I know myself better than other people know me. Make
me, I pray Thee, better than they suppose, and forgive me what they know
not.'"
Therewith he relapsed into silence once more; and Muriel, feeling that
there was a sort of momentousness in this hour of his entrance into the
political arena, held her peace. There was in her mind a sense of pride
at the part she was playing in a great event. She felt that she was, as
it were, a sharer in a diplomatic secret; it was almost as though she,
too, were serving a great cause. Suddenly the things which made up her
social life seemed to become insignificant, and her existence took on a
larger aspect.
As they drove up to the door of the Residency, she turned to him as
though he were an old friend. "I'm awfully glad my father is going to
have you with him," she said. "I feel a sort of personal interest in it
all."
Daniel's reply was interrupted by Lord Blair's appearance on the steps.
He had heard the car drive up to the door, and had hastened out to greet
the newcomer.
"Welcome, my dear Daniel," he exclaimed, holding out his arms as though
he were going to embrace his friend. "This is splendid, capital!"
The two men shook hands, and as they did so, Lord Blair winced as though
his fingers had been crunched in a man-trap. For some minutes thereafter
he held his right hand loosely in his left, bending the joints carefully
to and fro, under the pretence of fiddling with his rings. Even after
they had entered the drawing-room and Muriel was dispensing the tea, he
was still clenching and unclenching his fist, and bending and
straightening his first finger as though surreptitiously beckoning to
somebody.
Muriel told her father of her morning's work, and described with
enthusiasm the camp in the desert.
"I'm very sorry," he answered, turning to Daniel, "very sorry indeed,
that you are not going to live here in the house, but I bow to your
wishes. You must consider yourself entirely free; and indeed I know we
shall lose you if you are not your own master."
"Oh no," Daniel replied, "I'm quite prepared to follow a routine. I'll
work here all the morning, talking to your native callers, and I'll do
the correspondence at the camp in the evenings."
"That will be admirable," said Lord Blair; and presently, when tea was
over, he led Daniel away to his study.
"And now," he said, when they were seated, "let us discuss the question
of your salary...."
Daniel interrupted him. "Oh, don't bother about that. I'll take whatever
the position carries--I don't suppose it's much, as it's a Foreign
Office job. I've got a small income of my own, you know; and my tastes
are simple. Get me as much as you reasonably can, of course; but don't
worry about it."
Presently Lord Blair spoke of the question of Knighthood, and attempted
to persuade him to reconsider his decision; but Daniel was obdurate, and
very reluctantly his chief abandoned the project.
"Let me follow my own instincts," said Daniel. "From the native point of
view your adviser on Oriental matters does not need that sort of thing."
"Don't you think he does?" asked Lord Blair, rather doubtfully.
"Certainly not. If you'll let me, I shall turn out all the fine English
office furniture from my official room: the desk, and the red leather
chairs, and the pictures. They're all right for a governor, but not for
the--what shall I say?--the court philosopher, as I intend to be. I want
plain bare walls, bare floors with just a rug or two, and a few chairs.
No books, or papers, or maps, or calendars, or clocks."
"As you wish, my dear Daniel: I rely on you," said Lord Blair.
"You see," he continued, "what English pro-consuls in the East so often
lack is the go-between, the man who tries to get at the native soul, so
to speak. You, as governor, must represent the might and the justice of
England; but I must be the voice saying 'Don't be afraid: we shall not
outrage your religion or your philosophies or your traditions.' Now I
can't be that if I'm sitting at an American desk, with an eyeglass in my
eye, and a stenographer tapping away beside me, and a large office clock
ticking on the wall. I should be so unconvincing. Do you see what I
mean?"
"Quite, quite," Lord Blair answered. "I dare say you are right."
His face, however, belied anything of conviction that he attempted to
put into the words. He did not want Daniel to orientalize himself to any
marked extent: he wished him to take his place in the English and
Continental society of the Residency. He had great ambitions for him,
and the idea of training him ultimately to occupy his own exalted
position was developing rapidly in his mind. He dreaded anything in the
nature of eccentricity: he had the characteristic British dislike of the
crank. Yet he could not imagine Daniel as ever becoming unbalanced, for
a kind of equilibrium and stability were apparent in all his actions.
On the other hand, the idea of the new Oriental Secretary adopting the
role of philosopher appealed to him; he saw the force of it; for his
experiences in the East had made him realize that if a white man is to
gain the confidence of a brown race he must be, in both senses of the
words, capable of a brown study.
When Daniel returned to the drawing-room to say "good-bye" to Muriel and
to thank her, it was already dark outside, and the room was brilliantly
illuminated by a number of somewhat inadequately shaded electric globes.
There were five or six people in the room; and he paused for a moment in
the doorway, wondering whether he would give offence by beating an
immediate retreat. He was paying very careful regard to his behaviour,
however; and when Muriel called out to him, he was obliged to enter.
"I'm going now," he said to her, approaching the sofa where she was
seated. "I just wanted to say 'thank you.'" He looked neither to right
nor left.
Lady Muriel turned to a very smartly dressed woman who was seated beside
her on the sofa, and introduced Daniel. His hands were, at the moment,
clasped behind his back, and he bowed to her with great gravity. She
held out her hand, but, seeing that he had considered the more formal
bow sufficient to the occasion, withdrew it again. He thought that
perhaps he had been stiff, and at once held out his tanned and muscular
paw, but finding that it was too late, thrust it into his coat pocket,
at the moment when, for the second time, she offered her fingers. He
snatched his hand out of his pocket, but simultaneously she withdrew
hers again.
Muriel laughed nervously, but Daniel faced the situation frankly.
"I'm sure I don't know whether I'm supposed to shake hands or not," he
said. "What do people do in society?"
"Which ever you like," the lady murmured, with a titter of laughter.
"That's no good," he answered, "unless you do what the other fellow's
going to do. Anyway," he added, bending forward and very deliberately
taking hold of her irresolute hand, "how d'you do?"
He glanced about him, and observed that the others were watching him
with mild amusement. Near him was Sir Frank Lestrange, the First
Secretary, whom he had met before--a fair-haired, clean-shaven man of
some forty years of age, whose rigid formality seemed incapable of
disturbance. Daniel shook him warmly by the hand, but for all the
impression he made he might have been greeting a tailor's dummy.
Near the window he saw Lady Smith-Evered, talking to a pale young
Guardsman, who appeared to be in immediate need of a tonic. He went over
to her, and made his salutations with cordiality, for a year ago he had
made her acquaintance at the Residency, and he had a vague recollection
that she had taken offence at something or other he had said. He held
out his hand, but once more his pocket became its sudden place of refuge
as she bowed with all the stiffness that her undulating figure
permitted, and, with no more than a glance in his direction, turned to
continue her conversation with the Guardsman.
In another part of the room an elderly man with sleek, grey hair was
talking to a heavy matron whose respectable cloth dress looked as though
it had been made for her by a builder of club-room furniture. Daniel
thought he recognized the man, and took a few steps towards him, but,
deciding that he was mistaken, turned on his heel and, narrowly avoiding
a collision with a small table, returned to Muriel.
The curious thing was that though these situations were embarrassing, he
did not appear awkward. Muriel observed this remarkable fact, and
wondered at it. He was certainly out of place in a drawing-room, she
thought, but he was not therefore out of countenance; and his
_sang-froid_ seemed to deserve a more friendly treatment than it was
receiving. She therefore got up as he approached her, and in a very
audible voice asked him if he would let her help him to arrange his
official quarters on the morrow.
He thanked her, and then, lowering his voice, asked her if she could
explain Lady Smith-Evered's very marked hostility.
"Why, don't you know?" Muriel whispered. "She told me all about it: she
said you had run down the Army once when you were talking to her last
year."
"Nonsense," said Daniel, "I'm sure I never did."
Muriel nodded. "Yes, you did. She said you spoke of the officers of her
pet regiment as men who looked as though they'd been through the ranks."
"But I meant that as a compliment," he answered. "I meant they looked as
though they weren't afraid of hard work. Had she any other complaints?"
"No, I think that was her only grievance."
Before she could stop him, he turned and walked straight across the room
to Lady Smith-Evered, and came to a halt immediately in front of her.
"I was just asking Lady Muriel how I had offended you," he said, with
disconcerting directness; "and she tells me it was because you thought I
had disparaged some of our soldier friends."
The General's lady flushed. He saw the red glow creep up from her neck
to her face, under the thick powder, and her eyes gleamed menacingly;
but she only inclined her head.
"I want to apologize," he went on. "I'm most awfully sorry: my remarks
were stupid, and I think I must have been trying to say something
bright. Will you please forgive me?"
The flush deepened. "I'm glad you apologize," she said, and she glanced
at the Guardsman beside her, as though to bid him take notice of what
she supposed to be the discomfiture of the offender.
"I'm very glad that you accept my apology," he said, and with a bow he
left her.
"What on earth did you say?" asked Muriel, when he had returned to her.
"I apologized," he answered, quietly.
"Ate humble pie?" she queried, with a touch of disdain.
"I had hurt her feelings: I'm always sorry to annoy anybody," he
replied.
"Well," she remarked, "I think you've rather annoyed _me_ now, by
climbing down like that." She did not feel that humility suited him, and
she was conscious of a sense of disappointment.
"My good girl," he whispered, "you've got a lot to learn from the
philosophers. You must let me put you through a course of reading."
Her disappointment flamed into anger at his words, and she responded
coldly to his adieux. When he had left the room she sat down once more
upon the sofa, and in the few moments of silence which followed, she
experienced a variety of sensations. She felt as though he were the
schoolmaster again who had scolded her; she felt abashed and did not
know why; she felt angry with him, and, after their happy hours
together, her displeasure fell like a destructive hand upon the day's
edifice; she felt that they belonged to different worlds, and that it
was hopeless to attempt to understand him; she felt that she was right
and he was wrong, and yet there was a doubt at the back of her mind as
to whether the opposite might not somehow be the case.