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Show He held open the gate for her. They passed out and went a few steps down the road. "You don't understand Englishmen," she said. "Mon Dieu! How can I?" He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his slim hands. "We get our blood warmed each day by the sun, madame, we Arabs. How can we understand?" His eyes were again on her jewels. They spoke to him in the moonbeams. Each diamqnd, when it glittered, had "You think-?" She hesitated. She knew what he was thinking, that her husband cared nothing for her, that his soul was wrapped up in the love of sport. It seemed as if it were so. But she knew that it was not. She knew, and yet so subtle was this man's intluthat now he sent to her his doubt-if it were doubt and not pretence of doubt. He moved on a few steps very quietly, and she went with him as if unconsciously. "Madame, I think that what woman chooses not to see she does not see, that what woman chooses not to realize she does not realize. Am I wrong? I am only an Arab. I cannot know. I can only hazard. I can only guess." Humility from a man with eyes like his, eyes sparkling with intelligence, keen and searching, almost cunning, came absurdly. "Only an Arab!" exclaimed Lady . Wyverne. f/j She could not think of these dark /' : ! men as her husband did. To her >/, they seemed subtle as women, im-[k bued with a strange femininity despite their ruthlessness, their fierceness. |
