rtled her. Where was her
experience? She was ashamed of herself. Crudity was all very well with
this man, but--there were limits. She must not pass them without meaning
to do so, without knowing she was doing so. And she had not lived her
life since her divorce without discovering that the greatest _faux pas_
a jealous woman can take is to show her jealousy. Husbands of other
women had proved that to her up to the hilt, when she had been their
refuge.

"Of course! You know much of men."

He spoke with a quiet assurance as of one in complete possession of her
past. For the first time the question, "Has he heard of the famous Mrs.
Chepstow? Does he--_know_?" flashed through her mind. It was possible.
For he had been in Europe, to Paris. And he could read English, and
perhaps had read many English papers.

"Did you ever hear of some one called 'Bella Donna'?" she said, slowly.

Her voice sounded careless, but her eyes were watching him closely.

"Bella Donna! But any beautiful woman may be that."

"Did you ever hear of Mrs. Chepstow?"

"No."

He stared at her, then added:

"Who is it. Does she come to Cairo in the winter?"

She felt certain he had not heard, and was not sure that she was glad.
Her sort of fame might perhaps have attracted him. She wondered and
longed to know. She longed to ask him many questions about his thoughts
of women. But of course he would not tell her the truth. And men hate to
be questioned by women.

"Does she come to Cairo?" he repeated.

"She was there once."

"You are Bella Donna," he said.

"You had to say that."

"Yes, but it is true. You are Bella Donna, but you are not donna
onesta."

She did not resent the remark, which was made with an almost naive
gravity and directness. She was quite sure that Baroudi would never
appreciate a woman because she was honest. Again she longed to hint at
her notoriety, at the evil reputation she had acquired, which yet was a
sort of fame.

"In--in Europe they often call me Bella Donna," she said.

"In Europe?"

"In England--London."

"They are right. I shall call you Bella Donna here, beside the Nile."

He said it negligently, but something in her rejoiced. Nevertheless, she
said, she could not help saying:

"And the full moon?"

"What about her?"

"Is she Bella Donna?"

He half closed his eyes and looked down.

"I don't ask you if she is _donna onesta_."

He replied: "She is sixteen, and she is a dancing-girl."

"I u