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Show been really due to the discomfort of the inn at the salt mountain. It must have been her own feeling of guilt which had made her imagine a strangeness in his manner, a certain coldness and reserve unusual in him. At the worst his suspicions must have been quite vague. It occurred to her that Achmed might have spoken, or, if he had not, might yet speak, tell what he knew. But why should he? She divined that he was in Bencha' s pay, though the Spahi had not told her so. She knew Achmed had been to the villages that day. No doubt he had seen Benchatllal. No doubt Benchatllal had made things "all right." She put away her fears, told herself that she had had a lucky escape, and resolved henceforward to nothing to do with any strangethat caught at her curiosity in and took up a book. It was a French novel. As she looked at its first pages she seemed to hear the tap of high-heeled boots upon the trottoirs of Paris. Well, she adored Paris! It would be delicious to see it again, delicious to go to the shops, and- Benchatllal began to sing the whining song of the Caid who loved the dancer and who played for her upon the derbouka. Lady Wyverne's down into her lap. still, listening. novel dropped She sat quite It was ugly; yes, it was quite ugly. That whining voice would have no success if it sang in her world. That . tune would be considered "too shock-; 11: ingly hideous." And yet it won upon '7/ her, it fascinated her, it made her regret that she was not free, free as man is to follow his caprice, to in-.: vestigate any mystery that appeals to him, to set his feet in any path |
