It Happened in Egypt

								

doesn't even like Jews; and that makes friction between us, if we ever
happen to argue, for--maybe you don't know?--my mother was a Jewess.
I'm proud of her memory. But that's just why, if you can understand,
Monny's afraid in Egypt. Some girls would like to have a tiny
flirtation with a gorgeous Eastern creature (of course, he must be a
bey, or prince or something, otherwise it would be infra dig), but
Monny would hate herself for being attracted. Yet I know she dreads it
happening, because of the way I've heard her rave against the heroines
of novels, saying she has no patience with them; they ought to have
more strength of mind, even if it broke their hearts."
I wondered if Biddy, too, suspected some such fear in the mind of her
adored girl, and if that were one reason why she had turned matchmaker
for my benefit. Since the first day out she had used strategems to
throw us together: and it seemed that, years ago, when she used to
teach the little girl French, Monny's favourite stories had been of
Castle Killeena, and my boyish exploits birds'-nesting on the crags.
(Biddy said that this was a splendid beginning, if I had the sense to
follow it up.)
"And you?" I went on to Mrs. East. "What do you feel is going to happen
to you in the land of Khem?"
"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I wish I did! And 'afraid' isn't
exactly the word. I just know that something will happen. I wonder if
history does repeat itself? I should hate to be bitten by an asp----"
"Asps are out of fashion," I comforted her. "I doubt if you could find
one in all of Egypt, though I remember my Egyptian nurse used to say
there were cobras in the desert in summer. Anyhow, we'll be away before
summer."
"I suppose so," she agreed. "Yet--who knows what will become of any of
us? Madame Rechid Bey will be staying, of course. I don't know whether
to be sorry for her or not. The Bey's good-looking. He has brown eyes,
and is as white as you or I. Probably it's true that she's been too
seasick to leave her room for the last ten days, though Monny and Mrs.
O'Bri--I mean, Mrs. Jones--think she's shut up because men stared, and
because Mr. Sheridan talked to her. As for me, there's always that
question asking itself in my mind: 'What is going to happen?' And I
hear it twice as loud as before, in sight of Alexandria. Rakoti, we
Lagidae used to call the city." As she spoke, the long, oriental eyes
glanced at me sidewise, but my trustworthy Celtic features showed a
grave, intelligent interest in her statements.
"It must be," she went on, encouraged, "that I'm the reincarnation of
Cleopatra, otherwise how could I have the sensation of remembering
everything? There's no other way to account for it! And you know my
modern name, Clara, does begin with 'C.' Sayda must be right. She's
told lots of women the most extraordinary things. You really ought to
consult her, Lord Ernest, if you ever go to New York."
I did not say, as Neill Sheridan might, that a frothy course of