w old did Baroudi think her?

Arabs never know their ages. A man, a soldier whom she had known, had
told her that once, had told her that Arabs of sixty declare themselves
to be twenty-five, not from vanity, but merely because they never reckon
the years. Baroudi would probably never think of her as Englishmen
thought of her, would never "bother about" her age. She had seen no
criticism of that kind in his eyes when they stared at her. Probably he
believed her to be quite young, if he thought of her age at all. More
probably he did not think about the matter.

She was in the Eastern house of Baroudi.

When she and Nigel had left London for Egypt she had imagined herself
one day, if not governing London--the "London" that had once almost
worshipped her beauty--at least spurning it as Lady Harwich. She had
wrapped herself in that desire, that dream. All her thoughts had been
connected with London, with people there. Some day Lord Harwich would
die or get himself killed. Zoe Harwich would sink reluctantly into "Zoe,
Lady Harwich," and she, once the notorious Mrs. Chepstow, would be
mistress of Harwich House, Park Lane; of Illington Park, near Ascot; of
Goldney Chase in Derbyshire; of Thirlton Castle in Scotland; and of
innumerable shooting-lodges, to say nothing of houses at Brighton and
Newmarket. Society might not receive her, but society would have to envy
her. And perhaps--in the end--for are not all things possible in the
social world of to-day?--perhaps in the end she would impose herself,
she would be accepted again because of her great position. She had felt
that her cleverness and her force of will made even that possible.
Harwich's letter had swept the dream away, and now, the first shock of
her new knowledge passed, though not the anger, the almost burning sense
of wrong that had followed immediately upon it, she was
characteristically readjusting her point of view upon her future. She
had schemed for a certain thing; she had taken the first great step
towards the realization of her scheme; and then she had suddenly come
upon catastrophe. And now her thoughts began to turn away from London.
The London thoughts were dying with the London hopes. "All that is
useless now." That was what her mind was saying, bitterly, but also with
decision. Schooled by a life filled with varying experiences, Mrs.
Armine had learnt one lesson very thoroughly--she had learnt to cut her
losses. How was she going to cut this loss?