membered the eyes of Meyer Isaacson. They,
too, were almost cruelly penetrating; but whereas they distinctly showed
his mind at work, the eyes of Baroudi now seemed to hide what his mind
was doing while they stared at the working of hers. And this
combination of refusal and robbery, blatantly selfish and egoistic,
conveyed to her spirit an extraordinary sense of his power. For years
she had dominated men. This man could dominate her. He knew it. He had
always known it, from the first moment when his eyes rested on hers. Was
it that which was Greek or that which was Egyptian in him which already
overcame her? the keenly practical and energetic or the mysterious and
fatalistic? As yet she could not tell. Perhaps he had a double lure for
the two sides of her nature.

"Do you think so?" she said. "I doubt it. I'm not sure that I shall
spend another winter in Egypt."

His eyes became more sombre, looked suddenly as if even their material
weight must have increased.

"That is known, but not to you," he said.

"And not to you!" she said, with a sudden sharpness, very womanly and
modern.

With a quick and supple movement he was beside her, stretching his
length upon the ground in the shadow of the mountain. He turned slightly
to one side, raising himself up a little on one strong arm, and keeping
in that position without any apparent effort.

"Please don't try the old hypnotic fakir tricks upon me, Baroudi," she
added, pushing up the cushions against the rock behind her. "I know
quantities of hysterical European women make fools of themselves out
here, but I am not hysterical, I assure you."

"No, you are practical, as I am, and something else--as I am."

He bent back his head a little. The movement showed her his splendid
throat, which seemed to announce all the concentrated strength that was
in him--a strength both calm and fiery, not unlike that of the rocks,
like petrified flames which hemmed them in.

"Something else? What is it?"

"Why do women so often ask questions to which they know the answers?
Here is Ibrahim with our coffee."

At this moment, indeed, Ibrahim came slowly from behind the rocky
barrier, carrying coffee-cups, sugar, and a steaming brass coffee-pot on
a tray. Without speaking a word, he placed the tray gently upon the
ground, filled the cups, handed them to Mrs. Armine and Baroudi, and
went quietly away. He had not looked at Mrs. Armine.

And she had thought of Ibrahim as just a gentle and