ther caressingly, the young man murmured a few
Turkish words. She shrugged and leaned back in her chair, the flash
of animation gone. "And Cairo--that pleases you?" she asked of
Arlee.

Stumbling a little in her French, but resolutely rushing over the
difficulties, Arlee launched into the expression of how very much it
pleased her. Everything was beautiful to her. The color, the sky,
the mosques, the minarets, the Nile, the pyramids--they were all
wonderful. And the view from the Great Pyramid--and then she
stopped, wondering if that were not beyond her hostess's experience.

In confirmation of the thought the Turkish lady smiled, with an
effect of disdain. "Ascend the pyramids--that is indeed too much for
us," she said. "But nothing is too much for you Americans--no?"

Her curious glance traveled slowly from Arlee's flushed and lovely
face, under the rose-crowned hat, down over the filmy white gown and
white-gloved hands clasping an ivory card case, to the small,
white-shod feet and silken ankles. Arlee did not resent the
deliberate scrutiny; in coming to gaze she had been offering herself
to be gazed upon, and she was conscious that the three of them
presented a most piquant group in this dim and spacious old room of
the East--the modern American girl, the cosmopolitan young officer
in his vivid uniform, and this sequestered woman, of a period of
transition where the kohl and henna of the _odalisque_ contrasted
with a coiffure and gown from Paris.

Slowly and disconnectedly the uninspiring conversation progressed.
Once, when it appeared halted forever, Arlee cast a helpless look at
the Captain and intercepted a sharp glance at his sister. Indeed,
Arlee thought, that sister was not distinguishing herself by her
grateful courtesy to this guest who was brightening the _tristesse_
of her secluded day, but perhaps this was due to her Oriental
languor or the limitations of their medium of speech.

It was a relief to have the Captain suggest music. At their polite
insistence Arlee went to the piano and did her best with a piece of
MacDowell. Then the sister took her turn, and to her surprise Arlee
found herself listening to an exquisite interpretation of some of
the most difficult of Brahms. The beringed and tinted fingers
touched the notes with rare delicacy, and brought from the piano a
quality so vivid and poignant in appeal that Arlee could dream that
here the player's very life and heart were finding their real
e