a wonderful "character" had been written out, signed, and
had changed hands, with an exceedingly generous cheque. Certain
carelessly delivered promises had been made which Marie knew would be
kept. She had given a permanent address in France, and the curtain had
slowly fallen. Ah, the pity of it that there had been no audience! But
talent, like genius, should be its own consolation and reward.

So now Hassan arranged Mrs. Armine's "things." She was thankful that
Marie had gone, yet she felt utterly lost without a maid. Never, since
she was a young girl, had she been accustomed to do anything for herself
that a good maid could do for her. And there was not a woman-servant in
the house. She was tired, she was terribly strung up; her nerves were
all on edge; her heart was aflame with a jealousy which, she knew too
well, was destined to be fanned and not to be assuaged in the days that
lay before her. And she felt profoundly depressed. It was awful to come
home in such a condition in the dead of the night, and to be deprived of
all one's comforts. When she saw those silver things all laid out
wrongly, the brushes pointing this way and that, the combs fixed in them
with the teeth upwards, the bottles of perfume laid on their sides
instead of standing erect, the powder-boxes upside down, she felt ready
to cry her eyes out. And no one to take away her hat, to loosen and
brush her hair, to get her out of her gown, to unlace her shoes! And
Nigel at nine o'clock to-morrow!

The wind roared outside. One of the hanging wooden shutters that
protected the windows had got loose, and was now, at short intervals,
striking against the wall with a violent sound that suggested to her a
malefactor trying to break in. She knew what caused the reiterated
noise; she knew she could probably stop it by opening the window for a
moment and putting out her hand. And yet she felt afraid to do this,
afraid to put out her hand into the windy darkness, lest it should be
grasped by another hand. She was full of nervous fears.

As she sat there, she could scarcely believe she was in Egypt. The
roaring of the wind suggested some bleak and Northern clime. The shutter
crashed against the wall. At last she could bear the noise no longer,
and she got up, went out on to the landing, and called out: "Ibrahim!"

There was no answer. The lights were out. She felt afraid of the yawning
darkness.

"Ibrahim! Ibrahim!" she cried.

She heard the sough of draper