began to haunt the shops of the
dressmakers, the milliners and the jewellers. It did not require the
memory of my father's letter to make me spend his money--I spent it like
water. Feeling ashamed of my quaker-cut costumes (Alma had a costume for
every day of the week, and wore a large gold snake on her arm), I bought
the most costly toilettes, and loaded myself with bracelets, rings and
necklaces.

I was dressing for my husband, and for him I did many things I had never
dreamt of doing before. For him I filed my nails, put cream on my skin,
perfume on my handkerchief, and even rouge on my lips. Although I did
not allow myself to think of it so, I was running a race with Alma.

My maid knew that before I did, and the first night she put me into one
of my uncomfortable new gowns she stood off from me and said:

"His lordship must be a strange gentleman if he can resist you _now_."

I felt ashamed, yet pleased too, and went downstairs with a certain
confidence.

The result was disappointing. My husband smiled rather condescendingly,
and though Alma praised me beyond measure I saw that she was secretly
laughing as she said:

"Our Margaret Mary is coming out, isn't she?"

Nevertheless I persevered. Without too much preparation for so perilous
an enterprise, I threw myself into the gaieties of Cairo, attending polo
matches, race-meetings, picnics at the Pyramids, dances at the different
hotels, and on the island of Roda, where according to tradition,
Pharaoh's daughter found Moses in the bulrushes.

I think I may say that I drew the eyes of other men upon me,
particularly those of the colonel commanding on the Citadel, a fine type
of Scotsman, who paid me the most worshipful attention. But I thought of
nobody but my husband, being determined to make him forget Alma and fall
in love with me.

It was a hopeless task, and I had some heart-breaking hours. One day,
calling at a jeweller's to see a diamond necklace which I greatly
coveted, I was told in confidence that my husband had been pricing it,
but had had to give it up because it was a thousand francs too dear for
him. I was foolish enough to pay the thousand francs myself, under a
pledge of secrecy, and to tell the jeweller to send the necklace to my
husband, feeling sure in my simplicity that it had been meant for me.

Next night I saw it on Alma's neck, and could have died of mortification
and shame.

I daresay it was all very weak and very childish, but I