t and the coachman
pulled up his horses. Inside, on the left, there was a lodge from which
there now came a tall Arab. Mrs. Armine got quickly out of the carriage,
passed the horses, and stood looking through the gate.

"Is Mahmoud Baroudi in Cairo?" she said, in French.

The Arab said something in Arabic.

"Is Baroudi Effendi in Cairo?" Mrs. Armine said in English.

"Yes, I think," replied the man, in careful English, speaking slowly.

"In the city?"

"I think."

She took her purse, opened it, and gave him some money.

"Where?"

"I dunno."

"When will he be back here?"

"I dunno."

She felt inclined to scream.

"Will he come back to-night, do you think?"

"I dunno. Sometimes stay in Cairo all night."

"But he has not gone away? He is not away from Cairo? He is in Cairo?"

"I s'pose."

They stood for a moment staring at each other through the dividing gate.
The man's eyes were absolutely expressionless. He looked as if he were
half asleep. Mrs. Armine turned away, and got into the carriage.

"Go back to Shepheard's."

The coachman smacked his whip. The horses trotted.

When she reached Shepheard's, she resolved to spend the whole afternoon
upon the terrace. By chance Baroudi might come there. It was not at all
improbable. She had heard it said that almost every one who was any one,
in Cairo, either came to Shepheard's or might be seen passing by in the
afternoon hours. She took an arm-chair near the railing, with a table
beside it. She bought papers, a magazine, and sat there, sometimes
pretending to read, but always looking, looking, at the men coming up
and down the steps, at the men walking and driving by in the crowded
street. Tea-time came. She ordered tea. She drank it slowly. Her head
was aching. Her eyes were tired with examining so many faces of men. But
still she watched, till evening began to fall and within the house
behind her the deep note of a gong sounded, announcing the half-hour
before dinner. What more could she do? Mechanically she began to gather
the papers together. She supposed she must go in. The terrace was almost
deserted. She was just about to get up, when two men, one English, the
other American, came up the steps and sat down at a table near her. One
of these men was Starnworth, whom she did not know, and of whom she had
never heard. He ordered an aperitif, and plunged into conversation with
his companion. They talked about Cairo. Mrs. Armine sat still and
listened