dent, Freddy. All the same, I have lots to be jealous of.
Her beauty amazes me every time I look at her and, after all, beauty is
a rare and wonderful thing. Lots of women are good to look at and
attractive, but Millicent is beautiful. You have often said how rare
real beauty is and how carelessly we use the expression. Millicent
deserves it."

"You needn't be jealous of mere beauty, Meg. Even when she's on her
best behaviour, she never could impress a stranger as being anything
but what she is, a soulless little minx."

"Yet you thoroughly enjoyed her company, Freddy."

"I know I did. She's amusing, her personality is stimulating. But I
shouldn't like to have too much of it."

"Yet you'd have kissed her if you'd been alone with her--you said you'd
try!"

Freddy did not deny the accusation.

"Men are queer things," Meg said; "but you must get off to bed, you
look awfully tired."

She hated to have to send him away, for it was only on very rare
occasions, and quite unexpectedly, that Freddy expressed his opinions.
He belonged to the silent order of mankind; to strangers he never
revealed himself; he rarely said anything in their presence which
suggested that he had opinions at all, or that he was really an
exceedingly thoughtful person. Meg knew that he had ideas and
thoughts--very sound, clear ideas, too. She knew that Freddy thought
while other men talked. All the same, his opinions and thoughts, apart
from his profession, were apt to be strangled and suffocated by
tradition. Tradition was a mighty force in the Lampton family. It
almost, as Meg said, amounted to ancestor-worship. Freddy's choice of
a profession had been his one act of emancipation. He had, according
to family tradition, been destined for either the navy or the army, and
it had taken no little strength of character to cut the first link in
the chain.

When Freddy had gone to lie down and the little hut was left to its
midday silence--the tropical breathless silence of Upper Egypt, when
the sun is so hot that even a lizard would not venture from its
shelter--Meg sat down on a chair close to the table, and laid her head
on her arms.

She was tired, tired, tired. She must forget things for a little time,
before she even tried to review the situation, or think out what was
best to be done. If only she could will herself into absolute
unconsciousness for a little time, how sweet it would be! If she let
herself sleep--even though