who was beating a woman, should be considered foolish by any one,much more so by himself. The thought, a woman's thought, came toher--"he did it in the dark, too. What curious people these Englishmenare. How they love to ridicule themselves and one another. Fancy beingconsidered foolish to risk his life for helping a woman."
Hilda Muirhead gazed with admiration, whilst Mr Muirhead rose, crossedthe room, and, seizing Raife's hand, said: "Mr Remington, that's a finestory. We shouldn't call you a fool in the United States. We shouldcall you a hero and give you the time of your life. I'm your friend,sir, if you will allow me that honour."
Raife stammered and blushed. Hilda Muirhead saw that blush and admiredit, for there are not many men who blush in the United States.
In an effort to change the subject, which was tiresome to him, Raifesaid, "By the by, Mr Muirhead, I owe you an apology."
"Well, now, father," said Hilda, laughingly, "I wonder what MrRemington will apologise for next?"
Raife continued, smiling: "Oh, this isn't so foolish as the other. OnlyI omitted to give you my card, when we met. I hadn't got one with me atthe moment." He handed his card to Mr Muirhead, and, turning to Hilda,said: "May I present you with one also, Miss Muirhead?"
Father and daughter read the little neat piece of pasteboard:
Sir Raife Remington, Bart., Aldborough Park, Tunbridge Wells.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
MR MUIRHEAD AND HILDA DISCOVER RAIFE'S IDENTITY.
When Raife had returned to his room after the pleasantest evening of hislife, he meditated, as is the wont of impulsive young men after anevent. The night was very hot and, in spite of the clear starlit skyoverhead, it was sultry. He donned a light cashmere dressing-gown andwalked out to the balcony which overlooked the old town. Seatinghimself in a wicker chair, he lit a cigar and talked to himself, apractice of elderly people and those who are mentally perturbed. Hetalked to himself softly, in short, disjointed sentences. He muttered,with a curl of his lips: "Gilda! Ha! ha! That was a passing fancy. Iwas a fool. I'm glad I got out of it as well as I did. It was good ofthat fellow, Herrion, to steer me out of the mess I was landing myselfinto. Fancy marrying a `lady' burglar."
He yawned and relit his cigar which had gone out. Cigars make noallowance for meditative monologues. Continuing, he raised his voiceslightly: "Woman-hater! Of course, I'm a woman-hater. Two women havelanded me in a hole." Starting from his reverie, he thought he heard acough. Yes, it was a woman's cough. He stood up and leant over thebalcony. As he looked down, he saw a woman with a light shawl over herhead. She was on the balcony immediately under his. He only caught aglance as the figure entered the window below, which corresponded withthe one that led to his own room. He whispered now, lest he should beoverheard: "I wonder who that woman was. Was it Miss Muirhead?--Hilda!I rather like the name. It rhymes with Gilda. But what a differenttype of girl. And, after all, I must have companionship of some sort."
Next morning the trio met again in the foyer. The ice was broken now.Hotel friendships are very warm whilst they last. Would this one last?
When Raife left, after his story of the wound he got on behalf of astrange woman in Khartoum, Mr Muirhead and Hilda, each holding the cardin their hands, the card that Raife had given them, looked at oneanother with puzzled expressions. Then Mr Muirhead read aloud: "SirRaife Remington, Bart., Aldborough Park, Tunbridge Wells."
Hilda asked: "Why didn't he tell us he was a baronet?"
Her father answered, reflectively: "Yes, these Englishmen certainly arecurious. Now, if he'd been an American judge, or colonel, we shouldhave known all about it in five minutes, and more than we wanted to knowbefore the day was out, and before the dinner was over, we should havehated him for it."
Hilda, too, gazed reflectively, and said, "Yes, that's only too true.Then again, how strange that he should be ashamed of helping that poorwoman in Khartoum, and after being stabbed, too."
It has been said of Americans and others that they dearly love a lord.Why shouldn't they? Especially if he is a nice lord. Raife was not alord, but he was a baronet, and a very handsome and agreeable baronet.Mr Muirhead was an American business man, and it is the habit of suchmen to go to the "rock-bottom" of things, so he said to Hilda: "I wonderwhether he's a new-fledged political baronet, or one of the oldfamilies. I expect they've got a Debrett or Burke's Peerage downstairs.I'll look it up in the morning."
When Mr Muirhead looked up Raife's ancestry in the morning, he was notsorry to learn that Raife was descended from the Tudor and ElizabethanReymingtounes. He had just completed this operation when they met Raifein the foyer. They greeted one another with cordiality, and MrMuirhead induced Raife, without much difficulty, to join them in anexpedition. Hilda was divinely beautiful at the dinner of the previousnight. On this morning, riding in the bright sunlight, she was radiant.The reserve of the previous evening was absent and she talkedintellectually. At times, her conversation was brilliant, andinterspersed with those quaint witticisms that seem only possible toAmericans, and are doubly entertaining when they flow from the lips of apretty American girl. As Raife sat opposite to her, listening to thepleasing flow of her talk, he wrestled with his inclinations, and hismind determined for him that he need not be altogether a woman-hater.There was no harm in enjoying the society of a pretty girl as long as hedid not allow himself to become entangled. At the same time, he couldnot help contrasting this sunny, vivacious young girl, with thehandsome, white-haired, courtly father, against the mysterious Gilda,admittedly a "lady" burglar, and her sinister uncle with the unpleasingeyes.
During a lull in the talk, which had been mostly between Hilda andRaife, Mr Muirhead said: "I notice from your card that you are SirRaife Remington, a baronet. I've been wondering why you didn't mentionthat fact before."
Raife laughed, and replied: "Oh, I don't know. It didn't occur to me."
Mr Muirhead was characteristically American, a seeker after informationor truth, so he added: "I am a very plain American and I am not familiarwith the observances or etiquette of English society. I hazard thesuggestion that we should address you as `Sir Raife,' Is that correct?"
Raife was very charmed with these ingenuous people, and this time helaughed heartily until his shoulder reminded them all of the daggerwound. Recovering from the spasm of pain, which had caused Hilda toregard him with the real sympathy which brought the perfect beauty intoher lustrous eyes, he said: "I hope, sir, you will call me Remington,just Remington. The intricacies of etiquette are far too tiresome forsuch pleasant occasions as these. If Miss Muirhead insists on callingme `Sir Raife' I must submit, but the sooner she will forget the prefixthe greater will be my happiness."
Hilda, with eyes that had changed from sympathy to merriment, and withfun that was not intended for flirtation, exclaimed: "Really, Sir Raife,do you mean that? If so, how soon may I call you just `Raife' only?"
Mr Muirhead raised his eyebrows with a quizzical smile.
Raife replied: "I am not very familiar with your language as you alwayscharmingly and frequently quaintly express it, but I dare to suggest`right now!'"
Hilda had not imagined that an Englishman, especially an Englisharistocrat, could be so quick and graceful in repartee, and in spite ofher natural self-possession she blushed.
Raife was playing his part as a woman-hater rather badly; but he, at thetime, was very confident of himself. Raife was brave enough when theyhad returned to the hotel, and he felt that the day's pleasure had, inno sense, altered his determination in the matter. His bravery came tohis rescue in so far that he managed to avoid the incident of a dinnertogether. He pleaded the excuse of his wounded shoulder and retired tohis rooms.
Alone, after dinner, he renewed his moralising. He sat again on thebalcony, and tried to chase away the fever of love which was more to himthan a mere stab of a dagger in the shoulder. He flattered himself thathe was still a woman-hater, and that he had only played a game. Thiswas a _divertisseme
nt_ which should last until his shoulder was healed,and then he would rejoin Colonel Langton and renew his intention ofbig-game shooting. It did not occur to him that he was "big game," andthat he stood to be shot at. It was yet another of those divine nightswhich are so frequent in Cairo, and Raife's mood was quite contented ashe sat on the balcony and surveyed this fascinating city.
Among the cities of the East, Cairo is counted one of the mostenchanting. All that Europe has done to spoil the primitive grandeur ofthe older civilisation, which has existed centuries before us of theWest, leaves Cairo a monument of the gorgeous and inscrutable past.Aladdin with the wonderful lamp and all the stories of the ArabianNights seem to have emanated from
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