this touch of darkness and of
power in the way she came that made him think of some sphinx-like figure
of stone, some idol motionless in all its parts but moving as a whole,
and gliding across--sand. Beneath those level lids her eyes stared hard
at him. And a faint sensation of distress stirred in him deep, deep
down. Where had he seen those eyes before?

He bowed, as she joined them, and Vance led the way to the armchairs in
a corner of the lounge. The meeting, as the talk that followed, he felt,
were all part of a preconceived plan. It had happened before. The woman,
that is, was familiar to him--to some part of his being that had dropped
stitches of old, old memory.

Lady Statham! At first the name had disappointed him. So many folk wear
titles, as syllables in certain tongues wear accents--without them being
mute, unnoticed, unpronounced. Nonentities, born to names, so often
claim attention for their insignificance in this way. But this woman,
had she been Jemima Jones, would have made the name distinguished and
select. She was a big and sombre personality. Why was it, he wondered
afterwards, that for a moment something in him shrank, and that his
mind, metaphorically speaking, flung up an arm in self-protection? The
instinct flashed and passed. But it seemed to him born of an automatic
feeling that he must protect--not himself, but the woman from the man.
There was confusion in it all; links were missing. He studied her
intently. She was a woman who had none of the external feminine signals
in either dress or manner, no graces, no little womanly hesitations and
alarms, no daintiness, yet neither anything distinctly masculine. Her
charm was strong, possessing; only he kept forgetting that he was
talking to a--woman; and the thing she inspired in him included, with
respect and wonder, somewhere also this curious hint of dread. This
instinct to protect her fled as soon as it was born, for the interest of
the conversation in which she so quickly plunged him obliterated all
minor emotions whatsoever. Here, for the first time, he drew close to
Egypt, the Egypt he had sought so long. It was not to be explained. He
_felt_ it.

Beginning with commonplaces, such as "You like Egypt? You find here what
you expected?" she led him into better regions with "One finds here what
one brings." He knew the delightful experience of talking fluently on
subjects he was at home in, and to some one who understood. The feeling
at first