to Cairo."

And she shut her eyes with the determination to be calm, to be tranquil.
And soon she went to bed, determined to sleep.

But of course she did not sleep. Quietly, then angrily, she strove to
lay hold on sleep. But it would not come to her wooing. The long hours
of darkness wore gradually away; the first pale light of the new day
crept in to the rocking carriage; the weary woman who had been tossing
and turning from side to side, in a sort of madness of restrained and
attenuated movement, sat up against her crushed pillow, and knew that
there was probably some new line on her face, an accentuation of the
sharpness of the cheek-bones, a more piteous droop at the corners of the
mouth.

As she sat there, with her knees drawn up and her hands hanging, she
felt that she was uglier than she had been only the day before.

When the train reached Cairo, she pulled down her veil, got out, and
drove to Shepheard's. She knew an address that would find Baroudi in
Cairo, if he were there, and directly she was in her room she sat down
and wrote a note to him.

"Shepheard's Hotel, Tuesday morning.

"I have come to Cairo for a day's shopping. Can I see you? If so,
please tell me where and at what hour.

"Ruby Armine."

She wrote in French, sealed the envelope, and told the waiter to have it
taken at once by a messenger. Then she ordered coffee and rolls to be
sent in half an hour, and took a hot bath. How she wished that she had a
clever maid with her! It was maddening to have no help except that of a
clumsy Swiss housemaid, and she now saw, with horror, that she was
haggard. She scarcely recognized her own face. Instead of looking
younger than she was, it seemed to her now that she looked older, much
older. She was shocked by her appearance.

But she had had a night journey and had not slept, and every woman
looks old after a night journey. She would be all right when she had
rested. On arriving she had engaged a sitting-room. She went into it and
had breakfast, then asked for newspapers, and lay down on the sofa to
read. At every moment she expected the return of her messenger to
Baroudi. He came at last.

"Have you brought a note?" she asked, starting up on the sofa.

The messenger said no; the gentleman was not in.

"Did you leave the note?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can go back presently. Go back at twelve, and see if the gentleman
has come in. He may come in for lunch. Stay till lunch-t