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Updated: June 20, 2025
No, this is some one not specially interesting, but not bad; only Baroudi." Mrs. Armine's hands dropped from the arms of the chair, as she turned towards the glass. "Baroudi!" she said, as if the name meant nothing to her. "Why do you string one up for nothing, Nigel?" She took up a powder-puff. "Do you mean the man on the Hohenzollern? What has he to do with us?"
Ibrahim's soft eyes had become suddenly sharp and bright. "Do you know Mahmoud Baroudi, my lady?" "We met him on the ship coming from Naples." "Very big big as Rameses the Second, the statue of the King hisself what you see before you at the Ramesseum eyes large as mine, and hair over them what goes like that!" He put up his brown hands and suddenly sketched Baroudi's curiously shaped eyebrows.
She must have the life she wanted, and she must have it now. Otherwise she was "done for." Was she going to have it? And soon the exultation passed, and again fear beset her. Even if she found Baroudi in Cairo, what reception would she have at his hands? With anxious fingers she took out of her dressing-case the gilded box he had given her, and opened the lid.
Easterns are born with an appetite for intrigue, with a love of walking in hidden ways and creeping along devious paths. Why should those by whom she happened to be surrounded discard their natures? And then she thought of Nigel. How much more at her ease she was with Baroudi than she could ever be with Nigel! What Nigel desired she could never give him.
Yet Nigel was perfectly happy and every Egyptian longed to be in the Fayyūm. The sound of the name seemed to her desolate and sad. But Baroudi meant something. Even now she saw Hamza, straight as a reed, coming down the shadowy track from the town. She must make Nigel happy and wait.
Her fate had surely been bound about her neck. By whom? If she asked Baroudi she knew what he would tell her. Strangely, even his faith fascinated her, although at Nigel's faith she secretly laughed; for in Baroudi's faith there seemed to be a strength that was hard, that was fierce and cruel.
He rose from the sands and sauntered towards her. He came and stood silently beside her. "Ibrahim," she began. She looked at him, and was silent. Then she called on her resolute self, on the self that had been hardened, coarsened, by the life which she had led. "Ibrahim, do you know where Baroudi is what he has been doing all this time?" she asked. "What he has bin doin' I dunno, my lady.
He did not, even now, tell him all. He kept secret the visit of Mrs. Chepstow to his consulting-room, and her self-revelation there. And he did not mention Baroudi. At this moment of crisis the man bred up in England fought against the Eastern Jew within Isaacson, and the Eastern Jew gave way. But he described his visits to the Savoy, how the last time he had gone with the resolution to beg Mrs.
Schooled by a life filled with varying experiences, Mrs. Armine had learnt one lesson very thoroughly she had learnt to cut her losses. How was she going to cut this loss? She was in the Eastern house of Baroudi.
She would be all right when she had rested. On arriving she had engaged a sitting-room. She went into it and had breakfast, then asked for newspapers, and lay down on the sofa to read. At every moment she expected the return of her messenger to Baroudi. He came at last. "Have you brought a note?" she asked, starting up on the sofa. The messenger said no; the gentleman was not in.
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