"I understand," she said, with an effort.
She shut her lips tightly and was silent, thinking of Nigel's return, of
her departure with him to the Fayyum, while this man, on his luxurious
floating home, went on towards the south. She had resolved to live for
the day. But when does any jealous woman live for the day? Jealousy
hurls itself into the past and into the future, demanding of the one
what was and of the other what will be. And--the canvas of a tent would
enfold her, would make her prison walls! Why, why had she tied herself?
A month ago, and she was utterly free. She could have gone to the south
on the _Loulia_. Her whole body tingled, revolting against the yoke with
which her will had burdened it. But when she spoke again her voice was
lazy and calm?
"I suppose you won't stay on the Nile for ever?"
Again her fingers closed mechanically on one of the boxes.
"But no! I shall have to go back to Assiut, and then to Cairo and
Alexandria, the Delta, too."
"And the Fayyum? Haven't you property there? Isn't it one of the richest
districts in Egypt?"
He looked at her and smiled, slightly pouting his thick lips.
"Even if I could go to the Fayyum, I don't think it would be much good,"
he answered.
He had no scruple in stripping her bare of subterfuge.
"I meant that your advice on Egyptian agriculture might be valuable to
my husband," she retorted, with composure.
Something in his glance, in his tone, seemed suddenly to brace her, to
restore her.
"Ah! that is true. Mr. Armeen would take my advice. In some ways he is
not so very English."
"Then it would be kind to come to the Fayyum and to give him the benefit
of your advice."
He leaned towards her, and said:
"Bella Donna is not so very subtle!"
"You think subtlety so necessary?" she asked, with a light tinge of
irony. "I really don't see why."
His eyes narrowed till they were only slits through which gleamed a
yellowish light.
"When is your French maid going?" he asked.
She moved, and sat looking at him for a minute without replying. Had he
read her thought of the morning?
"My maid!" she said at length. "What do you mean? Why should she go?"
"When is she going?" he repeated.
The brigand had suddenly reappeared in him.
"What an absurd idea! I can't possibly get on without a maid."
She still acted a careless surprise. An obscure voice within her--a
voice that she scarcely recognized, whispered to her, "Resist!"
"When is she going?" he said once more, as if he had not heard her.
The man who was working by the shaduf cried out no more. No more did
Mrs. Armine see, at the end of the long and narrow alley, behind the
fretwork of shining, pointed leaves, the lateen sails go by. And the
withdrawal of the crying voices and of the gliding sails seemed to leave
this orange-garden at the very end of the world. The golden peace of the
noon wrapped it as in a garment, the hem of which was wrought in
geranium-red, in shining green, and in yellow turning to gold. But in
this peace she was conscious of the need to struggle if she would dwell
in safety. Soft seemed this garment that was falling gently about her.
But was it not really deadly as a shirt of Nessus, the poison of which
would penetrate her limbs, would creep into her very soul?
It was, perhaps, a little thing, this question of the going, or not, of
her maid, but she felt that if she resisted his will in this matter she
would win a decisive battle, obtain security from a danger impending,
whereas if she yielded in this she would be yielding the whole of her
will to his.
"I won't yield!" she said to herself.
And then she looked at the brigand beside her, and something within her,
that seemed to be the core of her womanhood, longed intensely to yield.
She had wished to get rid of Marie. Quite without prompting she had
decided that very morning to send Marie away. Then how unreasonable it
would be to refuse to do it just because he, too, wished the girl to go!
"Why do you want her to go?" she asked slowly, with her eyes upon him.
"How can it matter to you whether my maid goes or stays?"
He only looked at her, opened his eyes widely, and laughed. He took
another cigarette, lit it, and laughed again quietly, but with surely a
real enjoyment of her pretence of ignorance, of her transparent
hypocrisy. Nevertheless, she persisted.
"I can't see what such a thing can possibly have to do with you, or why
it should interest you at all."
"I will find you a better maid."
"Hamza--perhaps?" she said.
"And why not Hamza?"
He looked at her, and was silent. And again she felt a sensation of
fear. There was something deadly about the praying donkey-boy.
"When is that girl going?"
Mrs. Armine opened her lips to say, "She is not going at all." They
said:
"I intend to get rid of her within the next few days. I always intended
to get rid of her."
"Yes?"
"She isn't really a good maid. She doesn't understand my ways."
"Or she understands them too well," said Baroudi calmly, "When she is
gone, I shall burn the alum upon the coals and give it to be eaten by a
dog that is black. That girl has the evil eye."