a perfectly right judgment
of his practical capacity, of his power of acquirement.

But he could give her more than _luxe_, much, more than _luxe_.

And as she acknowledged that to herself, there came into Mrs. Armine's
heart a new inhabitant.

That inhabitant was fear.

She knew that in Baroudi she had found a man by whom she could be
governed, by whom, perhaps, she could be destroyed, because in him she
had found a man whom she could love, in no high, eternal way-she was not
capable of loving any man like that--but with the dangerous force, the
jealous physical passion and desire, the almost bitter concentration,
that seem to come to life in a certain type of woman only when youth is
left behind.

She knew that, and she was afraid as she had never been afraid before.

That night she slept very little. Two or three times, as she lay awake
in the dark, she heard distant voices singing somewhere on the Nile, and
she turned upon the bed, and she longed to be out in the night, nearer
to the voices. They seemed to be there for her, to be calling her, and
they brought back to her memory the sound of Baroudi's voice, when he
raised himself up, stared into her face, and sang the song about Allah,
the song of the Nubian boatmen. And then she saw him before her in the
darkness with a painful clearness, as if he were lit up by the burning
rays of the sun. Why had she met this man immediately after she had
taken the vital step into another marriage? For years she had been free,
free as only the social outcast can be who is forcibly driven out into
an almost terrible liberty, and through all those years of freedom she
had used men without really loving any man. And then, at last, she had
once more bound herself, she had taken what seemed to be a decisive step
towards an ultimate respectability, perhaps an ultimate social position,
and no sooner had she done this than chance threw in her way a man who
could grip her, rouse her, appeal to all the chief wants in her nature.
Those words in the Koran, were they not true for her? Her fate had
surely been bound about her neck. By whom? If she asked Baroudi she knew
what he would tell her. Strangely, even his faith fascinated her,
although at Nigel's faith she secretly laughed; for in Baroudi's faith
there seemed to be a strength that was hard, that was fierce and cruel.
Even in his religion she felt him to be a brigand, trying to seize with
greedy hands upon the promises and the jo