Chapter 45

Decked out in Mary's trappings Jill lay on the couch, her pale face shining like an evening flower, whilst she passed the brush over and over again through the burnished strands of her wonderful hair.

Mary had sat spellbound, almost open-mouthed, at the Arabian Nights tale Jill had poured into her astounded ears.

"Hahmed!" she had exclaimed when Jill had told her of her marriage; and be it confessed that Jill had tautened to meet the coming attack, and relaxed when Mary, clasping her capable hands, had suddenly and whole-heartedly beamed upon her. "Why, I've heard the most wonderful things about him since I have been out here, in fact I've been almost wearied to death listening to the accounts of his Haroun al Raschid methods and qualities. His wedding put Cairo in an uproar--I saw the pro------ But _Jill_, darling, is it possible it was you inside the palanquin on the wonderful camel?"

Jill nodded as she busied herself in plaiting her hair into great ropes.

"And you've run away--escaped, you say?"

Jill nodded again.

"Yes!" she said, with three big tortoiseshell combs between her teeth. "We had a _frightful_ flare-up--all the fault of my tearing temper. You see I've been absolutely spoilt these last months, and I simply behaved anyhow the first time I got scolded. But I didn't deserve it all the same!" she added as an afterthought, as she wound the plaits round her head. "And," she went on, "I should never have got away if Mustapha had been with us."

"Who's Mustapha?"

"My own special bodyguard! But as he _wasn't_ there I managed to thoroughly examine the high wall round the grounds, and found just one spot to give me a foothold. I scrambled up in the heat of the day when everyone was asleep, and had a terrible time with my garments."

She pointed as she spoke to a scented heap of silk and satin thrown on a chair.

"I had to partly disrobe whilst sitting on the top of the wall, and was terrified in case some pedlar might chance along. I tied my face and head veil round my waist, but the _habarah_, that big black cloak--by the way it belongs to one of my women, and I borrowed it with the excuse that I wanted it copied, mine you see are rather ornamental, as, of course, I never walk in the streets--well, I threw that on to the ground, tucked up my _sebleh_, that dressing-gown sort of thing, and scrambled down the other side, as I did not want to jump, ripping the knees of my _shintiyan_--the wide trouser kind of things we wear------"

Mary's face was a study.

"Thanks to my borrowed cloak I was able to walk through the streets in comfort--drawing my _burko_, face veil, dear, across my face so that only one eye should be seen,[1] and a blue one at that. When I got to Cairo I hired a car--speaking in Arabic to the astounded and fluttering Englishman--drove to the Savoy, where I guessed you'd be--found you'd moved here--came here--and being mistaken for what I am by marriage, namely, a high-born lady of the land, was conducted straightway to you in spite of the invalid--_et voilà_!"

Mary got up, and crossing to Jill sat down beside her on the couch.

"And what now, Jill? Hahmed will come and fetch you."

"Not Hahmed," said Jill, with a shadow in her eyes as she remembered his parting words after what she had tersely called the flare-up. "Besides, he trusts me _really_!" she added as an afterthought, and continued with a note of feverish excitement in her voice: "So I I'm going to stay with you, Mary, if you'll let me, until something or another happens to help me make up my mind. I want to do a lot of sight-seeing, and wear white skirts and a silk jersey and blouse. I'll find a maid somewhere, I expect."

"Oh!" broke in practical Mary, "don't worry about that--servants are such a nuisance. Do you remember Higgins? Well! she came out with me, and gave me notice the second week--'couldn't abide the 'eathen ways'--and wanted to get back to her home in Vauxhall. But the proprietor found me a native woman, a perfect treasure, whose one complaint is that she hasn't enough work to do!"

Silence fell for a time whilst Mary studied the face of her friend, suddenly leaning forward to stroke the pale cheek and pat the little hand.

"You don't look well, Jillikins! Are you sure you are happy?"

"Perfectly," said Jill, turning her face to the cushions and bursting into uncontrollable weeping.

[1]A custom.