of woman who is called a "rag" in that
far country, and a "drab" in ours. But he was a judge of human nature,
and judges of human nature know you are pretty safe to trust a woman
who never trusts, no matter how bad she is, if she has no influence over
you. He used to say that the better you are and the worse she is, the
more you can trust her. Other men may talk, but Dicky Donovan knows.

What Dicky's aunt, the Dowager Lady Carmichael, would have said to have
seen Dicky flaunting it in the clothes of a dancing-girl through the
streets of vile Beni Hassan, must not be considered. None would have
believed that his pink-and-white face and slim hands and staringly white
ankles could have been made to look so boldly handsome, so impeachable.
But henna in itself seems to have certain qualities of viciousness in
its brownish-red stain, and Dicky looked sufficiently abandoned. The
risk was great, however, for his Arabic was too good and he had to
depend upon the ghdzeeyeh's adroitness, on the peculiar advantage of
being under the protection of the mistress of the house as large as the
Omdah's.

From one cafe to another they went. Here a snakecharmer gathered a
meagre crowd about him; there an 'A'l'meh, or singing-girl, lilted a
ribald song; elsewhere hashish-smokers stretched out gaunt, loathsome
fingers towards them; and a Sha'er recited the romance of Aboo Zeyd.
But Dicky noticed that none of the sheikhs, none of the great men of
the village, were at these cafes; only the very young, the useless,
the licentious, or the decrepit. But by flickering fires under the
palm-trees were groups of men talking and gesticulating; and now and
then an Arab galloped through the street, the point of his long lance
shining. Dicky felt a secret, like a troubled wind, stirring through the
place, a movement not explainable by his own inner tremulousness.

At last they went to the largest cafe beside the Mosque of Hoseyn. He
saw the Sheikh-el-beled sitting on his bench, and, grouped round him,
smoking, several sheikhs and the young men of the village. Here he and
the ghdzeeyeh danced. Few noticed them; for which Dicky was thankful;
and he risked discovery by coming nearer the circle. He could,
however, catch little that they said, for they spoke in low tones, the
Sheikh-el-beled talking seldom, but listening closely.

The crowd around the cafe grew. Occasionally an Arab would throw back
his head and cry: "Allahu Akbar!" Another drew a sword an