Part 40 (1/2)

”Oh, no--she just thought of it as a lark on our part,” Billy went on. ”I didn't let her in for the horrible details--I don't think she's likely to mention it to you. Or you to her,” he added.

”Rather not.” The young Englishman was emphatic. ”I'm sorry you said anything about it.” Then he looked at Billy, a crinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. ”Rather a sell, you know--what?”

”I should say so!” returned Billy, with a hearty appearance of chagrin, and a laugh cemented the understanding.

That was all between them concerning the escapade.

Billy had raced back to the boat, and secured an earnest fifteen minutes with Arlee, who promised unlimited care, and then forced upon him the wretched sovereigns that she owed. She was feeling desperately spent and tired after her day of excitement, and declared herself unequal to the dance upon the boat that evening.

Anxiously Billy had urged her to rest, and he spent a drifting and distracted evening roaming alone in the temple of Luxor listening to the distant music from the boat--thinking of Arlee.... Later he had learned that she remained up for at least two dances with Falconer.

So much for Friday. Sat.u.r.day had been worse. Arlee had said on Friday night that she would join the pa.s.sengers in the all-day excursion to the Tombs of the Kings, and Billy had somehow found himself in an arrangement with Lady Claire and Falconer to go with them. Then Arlee had not gone. Mrs. Eversham reported that she had a headache, and Falconer had very promptly dropped out of the party, leaving Billy with Lady Claire upon his hands, and so he went, and he and Lady Claire and the Evershams and about sixty other pa.s.sengers had a brisk and busy day of it. When he returned just before dinner he saw Arlee, apparently headacheless, upon the deck of the steamer, chatting to Falconer.

That night she had attended the dance at the hotel under Miss Falconer's wing. Billy had danced with her twice, and between times his pride had kept him aloof--she might just have made one sign! But though her bright friendliness was ever responsive; though she was instantly, submissively, ready to accept his invitations or fulfill his requests, he felt that there was something strangely lacking.

The gay spark of her coquetry was gone; she did not tease or play with him; animated as she was in company, when they were alone together a constraint fell upon her.

Miserably he felt that he reminded her of unhappy scenes and that she would be secretly relieved when he was gone.

So now he was absurdly glad to hear her declare, in answer to Lady Claire's questionings, ”Oh, but the desert is wonderful! I loved it in spite of----”

”In spite of--?” Lady Claire echoed.

”The sand,” said Arlee promptly. But under her lashes, her eyes came, at last, half-scared, to Billy's face.

”But the sand _is_ the desert,” Lady Claire was murmuring.

”It's only part of it,” Billy took it upon himself to answer. ”s.p.a.ce is the biggest part--and then color. And sometimes--heat.”

”You spent quite a time on the desert edge with some excavators, didn't you?” said the English girl, and Billy fell into talk with her about his friend's work, and Falconer and his sister engrossed Arlee.

And to-night was the very last night of her stay at Luxor. To-morrow the boat would take her on out of his life--unless he pursued her along the Nile, a foolish, unwanted intruder.... The three days here had all slipped from his clumsy grasp--they seemed to have put a widening distance between them.... He heard Falconer calculating that the boat would touch again at Luxor for the next Friday night.

There seemed to be talk of a masked ball....

Billy leaned suddenly across the table.

”You have forgotten it's the best of the moon to-night?” he asked.

”You must let me take you to see it on Karnak.”

Falconer gave him a very blank look.

”We've already planned for that,” said he.

”We'll all go,” cried Arlee, with instant pleasantness. ”We mustn't miss it for anything.”

”You haven't seen the moon on the temple yet?” Billy inquired of Lady Claire in the pause that ensued.

”Only once--four nights ago. But it wasn't full then.”