tell us as much as you care."
Raife thought to himself: "Oh, hang these people. Why don't they goaway? She's a charming girl, though."
As he thought, Mr Muirhead, with a promptitude characteristic ofAmericans, produced his card, and, proffering it, said: "Here is mycard, sir. I am a very humble American citizen. My daughter and Ioccupy the suite on the first floor, facing north. I shall take it as acompliment, if you should have a dull few minutes to spare, that youshould honour us with a visit. We shall be here, or hereabouts, for aweek or two."
Even in Cairo the warmth of the old gentleman's invitation appearedrather sudden to Raife. However, he had not been in the United States,and had met few Americans. He certainly had not met one who combined somuch courtliness of manner and dignity as Mr Reginald Pomeroy Muirhead,of the Fifth State Bank of Illinois, and father of a charming daughterwith a musical voice.
Raife forgot he was a woman-hater. He replied, "I'm sorry I haven't gota card with me, and, if I had, I couldn't get at it with this confoundedshoulder. My name is Remington, sir, and I'm an Englishman. I will tryto avail myself of your very kind invitation."
As they departed, Raife, for the first time, saw those lips that helpedHilda Muirhead "to talk and laugh, and to sing." He also encounteredher eyes that were for the purpose "of normal sight and restrainedemotion." On this occasion it was a sympathetic emotion.
When they had gone out into the hot sun for one of those expeditions ondonkeys, that are such an attraction to visitors to Egypt, Raifecontemplated. In the end he had determined that he would not accept MrMuirhead's invitation to visit them in his suite. He hated the sound ofthe word "suite," anyhow.
It is dull work for a strong young man to recline in a wicker chair, tosmoke and to read all day in a hotel, whether it be in Cairo orelsewhere. To refuse the advances of a hundred eyes of every hue, andto maintain a stoical indifference to every one around, because one hassuffered at the hands of two women was a brave endeavour. Raifeconfined himself to his own rooms and dined in solitary state for threedays. At the end of that time his desire for companionship of some kindwas uncontrollable.
Raife sat in the foyer once more, and Mr Muirhead came across to himwith an air of urbanity. "Ah, Mr Remington! We have not seen youduring the last few days. I hope your wound has not been troublingyou."
Raife stood up and looking straight at the genial, old gentleman, said:"No, Mr Muirhead, not much; but the doctors have told me that if Idon't keep quiet, I shall have complications, and I am already tired of`keeping quiet,' as they call it."
"Well, Mr Remington, if you are tired of keeping quiet by yourself andyou will dine with me to-night, in my room, I promise you quietude, and,at the same time, it may prove a relaxation to you."
Raife could not refuse the invitation offered so gracefully, and heaccepted.
When Raife was announced that evening, in Mr Muirhead's suite of rooms,the first impression he received was that a very ordinary hotel room hadbeen transformed into a bower of flowers and blossom, and that therewere many evidences of home life around it in the shape ofdaintily-framed photographs and tiny ornaments representative of manycountries. The arrangement of flowers on the dinner-table which awaitedthem, showed that an appreciative hand had tended them. Mr Muirheadreceived his guest, and after the ordinary interchange of greetings,sounded a gong which brought a dusky attendant.
"Mr Remington, may I have the privilege of mixing for you an Americancocktail?" said his host. "There are many spurious editions of thecocktail throughout Europe, and, indeed, the world; but it isessentially an American drink, and, if you will allow me to play thepart of `bar-tender,' I think I may please you."
Mr Muirhead's cocktail, which he mixed from the ingredients handed tohim by the attendant, was a superlative success.
Raife said: "Splendid! how do you do it?"
At this moment Hilda Muirhead entered.
The Oriental atmosphere at night-time is a thing apart. There is asubtle, undefinable charm about an Oriental apartment, which combineswith it just sufficient of the modern to add to luxury. Mr Muirhead'sreception-room had been adapted as a dining-room for Raife's benefit,and was sumptuous. There were rich oriental draperies and soft divans,with subdued lights; in the centre, a perfectly-appointed dinner-tablefor three, on which was cream-coloured napery, silver, cutlery andsparkling glass. The whole scene was a wealth of many colours, subduedand harmonised. The sombre black and white of the Western evening dressof men took its place in the soft light and deep shadows. This was thesetting and background when Hilda Muirhead entered the room.
The introduction was both formal and informal. "Mr Remington, Ipresent my daughter, my only daughter." Then to Hilda he said: "Are youready, my dear; shall dinner be served?"
They were, indeed, a handsome trio around the table in the richapartment of a hundred colours, lights and shadows all welded.
Skilled were the movements of the attendants which brought the dishes--the _plats_ which Mr Muirhead had ordered well, as a polished andtravelled American.
Raife hated women less at that time than for many months past. HildaMuirhead displayed the well-bred and experienced side of her character,and made a charming hostess. Her delicately-tinted, clinging gownrevealed a neck and bust of daintily-tinted alabaster, with roundedarms. A pearl necklace was the only article of jewellery thatsupplemented this confection, which adorned a simple American girl. Theenvironment, the charm of Mr Muirhead's conversation, and the subduedgrace of the fascinating girl who confronted him, presented to Raife anaspect of "Americanhood" that he had not conceived possible. There aremany degrees of trippers from the United States and elsewhere. If thesewere trippers, then they possessed an exalted rank amongst trippers.No! they were not trippers. They were aristocrats of a type that SirRaife Remington, Bart., had not previously encountered.
The dinner was finished and the coffee was served. Hilda had retiredand the two men smoked cigarettes. Mr Muirhead, after a silence of aminute or two, said, "Mr Remington, I do not wish to intrude on anysubject that may be unpleasant to you. Your allusion, the other day, tothe fact that your wound was due to a blow from a dagger interested mevery much at the time, and I have thought of it several times since.May I ask, I do not press the question, which may even appearimpertinent--may I ask, was it--er--was it an accident?"
Raife smiled as he said: "No, there is no secret about it, although I amrather ashamed of the business. It made me appear such a fool, and hasspoilt a big-game hunting expedition I had started on. I should be muchfurther south by now, and probably mauled by some big beast I had failedto hit. So, perhaps, it's just as well."
Mr Muirhead was evidently interested. Big-game shooting is knownmostly in America by the exploits of an ex-president, whose deeds were,at the same time, exploited and travestied by a Press peculiar to thecountry.
He interrupted: "Do you mind if I ask my daughter to join us again. Iam sure the story will interest her so much. Do you mind? You are sureyou don't mind?"
It was impossible for Raife "to mind," and he assented.
When Mr Muirhead returned, followed by Hilda Muirhead, every atom ofRaife's hatred of women had vanished. She had changed her dinner-gown,and was now attired in a long, trailing robe of soft silk, clasped atthe waist by an antique metal belt studded with quaint stones. Theconventional tight folds of her wonderful hair had been loosened andgave indication of the wealth of that glory of womanhood. Her arms werestill half bare and some Egyptian bangles hung loosely around herwrists. She stood for a moment holding aside a _fortiere_ of thedeepest _eau-de-nil_ blue mingled with Indian reds. It was a completepicture of human loveliness in a background of Oriental splendour. AsRaife rose from the divan, on which he had been reclining, toacknowledge her presence, he gasped with admiration.
In her well-modulated contralto tones she said, with evidentearnestness: "Mr Remington, father tells me that you have consentedthat I should hear the story of your wound--that dagger wo
und." Thenshe shuddered.
"My dear Miss Muirhead, I am afraid it will make a very dull story, andwill make me appear very foolish. However, I will willingly appearfoolish before such an audience."
Raife told the story of the woman who was beaten by the Nubian in theback street of Khartoum; of her cries, and his attempt at rescue--and ofthe stab in the dark from behind. He told it in a characteristicallyEnglish way--haltingly, and without embellishment.
With elbows on knees, and with dainty fingers entwined under her chin,Hilda Muirhead sat and gazed at this handsome young man--his nationalitymattered not to her--as he told the story that "made him appearfoolish." It was incredible to her that a man who boldly ran down aslum, in a hateful place like Khartoum, to hammer a great big ugly blackman,
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