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Updated: May 18, 2025
She wants you both to be there, but she doesn't like Sir M. to have a superior position to Antoun's. That day on the Enchantress Isis Sir M. invited us to have tea on the deck, and it really was enchanting; a deck like a huge open-air drawingroom, or one of our biggest verandas at Newport, or somewhere, with jolly green wicker chairs and tables and sofas with heaps of cushions.
I had to hear and wanted to hear the story of all that had happened from the moment she and Monny entered Rechid Bey's gate, to the moment they came out. Then there was Antoun's story to follow; and after that we had to compare notes: how everybody had felt, what everybody had thought, what everybody had done.
This combination opened doors for me; and three minutes later I was shaking hands with a tall, thin, white moustached, hawk-featured Englishman who looked all muscle and bones and brain. Jarvis Pasha being in the secret of "Antoun's" identity and business in Cairo, simplified the explanation, and did away with the necessity for a preface.
In spite of "Antoun's" dignified refusals, putting the men off till our return, they ran after us, waving scarfs and shawls and robes, white as scintillating hoarfrost, pink as palest roses, purple as sunset clouds, green and golden as Nile water, or sequined black as a night of stars.
Even if the big gatekeeper came back with an excuse, as seemed too probable, there was hope from Antoun's diplomacy; but the chances were two to one against success. Rechid Bey had almost certainly been put upon his guard by the revengeful Bedr who had shown himself all grinning friendliness to us.
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