enormous imaginative leap!--that she could teach him "Egypt."

He watched her carefully, in a sense fascinated. He could only describe
the face as black, so dark it was with the darkness of great age.
Elderly was the obvious, natural word; but elderly described the
features only. The expression of the face wore centuries. Nor was it
merely the coal-black eyes that betrayed an ancient, age-travelled soul
behind them. The entire presentment mysteriously conveyed it. This
woman's heart knew long-forgotten things--the thought kept beating up
against him. There were cheek-bones, oddly high, that made him think
involuntarily of the well-advertised Pharaoh, Ramases; a square, deep
jaw; and an aquiline nose that gave the final touch of power. For the
power undeniably was there, and while the general effect had grimness in
it, there was neither harshness nor any forbidding touch about it. There
was an implacable sternness in the set of lips and jaw, and, most
curious of all, the eyelids over the steady eyes of black were level as
a ruler. This level framing made the woman's stare remarkable beyond
description. Henriot thought of an idol carved in stone, stone hard and
black, with eyes that stared across the sand into a world of things
non-human, very far away, forgotten of men. The face was finely ugly.
This strange dark beauty flashed flame about it.

And, as the way ever was with him, Henriot next fell to constructing the
possible lives of herself and her companion, though without much
success. Imagination soon stopped dead. She was not old enough to be
Vance's mother, and assuredly she was not his wife. His interest was
more than merely piqued--it was puzzled uncommonly. What was the
contrast that made the man seem beside her--vile? Whence came, too, the
impression that she exercised some strong authority, though never
directly exercised, that held him at her mercy? How did he guess that
the man resented it, yet did not dare oppose, and that, apparently
acquiescing good-humouredly, his will was deliberately held in abeyance,
and that he waited sulkily, biding his time? There was furtiveness in
every gesture and expression. A hidden motive lurked in him;
unworthiness somewhere; he was determined yet ashamed. He watched her
ceaselessly and with such uncanny closeness.

Henriot imagined he divined all this. He leaped to the guess that his
expenses were being paid. A good deal more was being paid besides. She
was a rich relati