noted
the thin shine of the shifting skin. The curiosity of Mrs. Armine was
met by another but childlike curiosity, and suddenly, out of the cloud
of mystery broke a ray of light that was naive.

This naivete confused Mrs. Armine. For a moment it seemed to be pushing
away her anger, to be drawing the sting from her curiosity. But then the
childishness of this strange rival stirred up in her a more acrid
bitterness than she had known till now. And the wondering touch became
intolerable to her. Why should such a creature be perfectly happy, while
she with her knowledge, her experience, her tempered and perfected
powers, lived in a turmoil of misery? She looked down into the
Ghawazee's eyes, and suddenly the painted hands dropped from the fur,
and she was confronted by a woman who was no longer naive, who
understood her, and whom she could understand.

The voice of the lute-player died away, the thin cry of the strings
failed. He had seen. He rose to his feet, and said something in a
language Mrs. Armine could not understand. The girl replied in a voice
that sounded ironic, and suddenly began to laugh. At the same moment
Baroudi came into the tent. The girl called out to him, pointed at Mrs.
Armine, and went on laughing. He smiled at her, and answered.

"What are you saying to her?" said Mrs. Armine, fiercely. "How dare you
speak to her about me? How dare you discuss me with her?"

"P'f! She is a child. She knows nothing. The camel is ready."

The girl spoke to him again with great rapidity, and an air of
half-impudent familiarity that sickened Mrs. Armine. Something seemed to
have roused within her a sense of boisterous humour. She gesticulated
with her painted hands, and rocked on her mattress with an abandon
almost negroid. Holding his lute in one pale hand, and stroking his
blue-black beard with the other, her huge and flaccid attendant looked
calmly on without smiling.

Mrs. Armine turned and went quickly out of the tent. Baroudi spoke again
to the girl, joined in her merriment, then followed Mrs. Armine. She
turned upon him and took hold of his cloak with both her hands, and her
hands were trembling violently.

"How dared you bring me here?" she said. "How dared you?"

"I wanted you. You know it."

"That's not true."

"It is true."

"It is not true. How could you want me when you had that dancing-girl
with you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, almost like one of the Frenchmen whom he had
met ever since he