up half a dozen cut-throat Bedouin and peg her to the ground for the jackals to sniff at till he was ready to put her in his harîm.
She laughed nervously to herself as she went to her bath; and her thoughts turned again to the possibilities of the garden and the Nile, and once more the difficulties of her position were manifest. Female accomplices are required in romance: she had none. There was her maid, Ada, a large Scotchwoman, who would play the part about as nimbly as a hobbled cow. Lady Smith-Evered was not to be trusted with secrets, even if she were able to be flattered into acquiescence. There was no other woman in Cairo with whom she was at all well acquainted as yet, and none that gave promise of the paradoxical but necessary combination of self-effacement and presence of mind.
What she required was the friendship of a young married woman without stain and without scruple. Then there would be some hope that the season would not be entirely barren of romance, and, when she returned to England in the spring, she would not be in the painful necessity of having to invent confidences for the ears of her girl friends.
There is, however, an ancient and once very popular Egyptian god who seems to have survived to the present day, if one may judge by the strange events which take place in the land of the Pharaohs. By the Greeks he was called Pan-Who-is-Within-Hearing; and he must certainly have been sitting in the bathroom. For no sooner had Muriel dressed and come downstairs than the accomplice walked straight into the house.
Muriel had just entered the drawing-room by one door when a footman threw open the opposite door and announced “Mr. and Mrs. Benifett Bindane.”
A moment later a plump, square-shouldered young woman hurried into the room and flung herself into Muriel’s arms. “Muriel – you darling!” she cried, and “Kate – my dear!” cried Muriel, as they kissed one another affectionately.
Mrs. Bindane beckoned to the middle-aged man who had followed her into the room. “This person is my husband,” she said. “I think you saw him when he was courting me.”
He came forward and gave Muriel a limp hand. He was very tall, and appeared to be invertebrate; he had watery blue eyes, thin yellow hair, a long, white, clean-shaven face, and a wet mouth which was seldom, if ever, shut.
“Benifett, my dear,” said his capable, handsome wife, “say something polite to the lady.”
“How-de-do,” he murmured, staring at her awkwardly.
“Yes, I think we did meet once, didn’t we?” said Muriel.
Mrs. Bindane intervened. “Yes, don’t you remember? At the pictures, when we were keeping company. We got wed at our chapel ten days ago – such a to-do as you never saw! And afterwards a real beano at the Fried Fish Shop: beer by the barrel, and port too! And Pa gave me away, in his evening dress, red handkerchief and all!”
Such was her peculiar and characteristic way of referring to the fact that she had introduced Muriel to her fiancé one night at Covent Garden, and that she had been married to him at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, where she had been given away by her father, Lord Voycey, a reception being later held at her paternal home in Berkeley Square.
“I didn’t know you were coming out here,” said Muriel. “It’s splendid.”
“We only decided on Egypt at the last minute,” explained Mr. Bindane. “Kate was so anxious to go up the Nile.”
“It’s a blinkin’ fine river, I’m told,” remarked his wife, at which he smiled reprovingly.
Her friend’s language was notorious, though actually she seldom approached an oath except in mimicry. She was a woman of five-and-twenty, and for seven years she had delighted London with her pretended vulgarity. Her husband, on the other hand, was more or less unknown to the metropolis, though, as the inheritor from his father of an enormous fortune, his name had lately been heard in Mayfair, while in the City it was well known. People said he was a fool; and everybody supposed that the eccentric Kate had married him for his money. As a matter of fact, she had married him for love.
“Where are you staying?” Muriel asked.
“We’ve got a little paddle-wheeled steamer on the river,” he replied. “We arrived last night.”
“And of course we came round to see you at once,” said Kate. “Benifett’s rather a snob, you know: loves lords and ladies. So do I. How’s your pa?”
“Oh, just the same as always,” Muriel answered. “I don’t seem to see much of him.”
“People say he’s rather a success at running this ’ere country,” the other remarked. “Personally, I detest the man: I think he’s neglected you shamefully all your life.”
“Oh, father’s all right,” said Muriel. “I’m very fond of him.”
“Rot!” muttered her friend.
For some time they exchanged their news, and Muriel gave some account of the quiet life she had spent since her arrival.
“Any decent men?” Mrs. Bindane asked. “What about little Rupert Helsingham?”
“Oh, d’you know him?”
“Lord! yes. He stayed with us once when he and I were kiddies. I saw him when he was on leave last summer: he’s grown into a handsome little fellow.”
She asked if he were on the premises, and whether she might see him. In reply, Muriel rang the bell, and sent a message to the office where Rupert usually spent his mornings in interviewing native dignitaries.
“Here’s a friend of yours,” she said to him as he came into the room, and there ensued a rapid exchange of merry greetings.
“This is what I’ve married,” remarked Mrs. Bindane, taking her husband’s hand in hers and delivering it into Rupert’s friendly grasp.
“How-de-do,” said Mr. Bindane, looking down from his great height at the dapper little man before him.
“Glad to meet you, sir,” said Rupert, looking up at the limp figure, which gave the appearance of being about to fall to pieces at any moment.
“His father’s a lord, dear,” whispered Mrs. Bindane to her husband, in a hoarse aside.
“You’re just as impossible as ever, Kate,” laughed Rupert.
“It’s my common blood,” said she. “One of my ancestors married his cook: she was the woman who cooked that surfeit of lampreys King John died of.”
“Is Lord Blair in?” Mr. Bindane asked, very suddenly.
Mrs. Bindane turned sharply and stared at him. “Now what has Lord Blair to do with you, Benifett?” she asked in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew him.”
Her husband flapped a loose hand. “I’ve met his Lordship,” he said.
“His Lordship,” mimicked the impossible Kate, giving a nod of simulated awe. “Rupert, my lad, go and tell the boss he’s wanted in the shop.”
“I’d like to see him,” murmured Mr. Bindane, quite unmoved.
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