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I think yes, I think it might possibly frighten Miss Murray." Helen raised her eyes to his, but said nothing. "Oh, by Jove!" murmured Lord Fulkeward, feeling his moustache as usual. "Then don't you come, Miss Murray. We'll tell you all about it afterwards." "I have no curiosity on the subject," she said a trifle coldly. "Denzil, you will find me in the drawing-room. I have a letter to write home."
And raising his hat again he sauntered slowly off, young Fulkeward walking with him and chatting to him with more animation than that exhausted and somewhat vacant-minded aristocrat usually showed to anyone. "It is exceedingly warm," said Lady Lyle, rising then and putting away her cross-stitch apparatus, "I thought of driving to the Pyramids this afternoon, but really ..."
She was a very dark woman too dark for my taste, and she'd got a poignard clasped in in her right hand. Of course, she was going to murder somebody with it; that was plain enough. You meant it so, didn't you?" "I suppose I did." "She was in a sort of Eastern get-up," pursued Fulkeward, "one of your former studies in Egypt, perhaps."
Fulkeward gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders; Gervase looked round at him ere he crossed the threshold of the mysterious habitation. "I'm sorry you have to walk back alone." "Don't mention it," said Fulkeward affably. "You see, you have come on business.
"You have never been inside?" "Never." And Fulkeward lowered his voice: "Look up there; there's the beast that keeps everybody out!" Gervase followed his glance, and perceived behind the projecting carved lattice-work of one of the windows a dark, wrinkled face and two gleaming eyes which, even at that distance, had, or appeared to have, a somewhat sinister expression.
"Lady Fulkeward admires the Princess very much, I believe?" said another lounger who had not yet spoken. "Oh, as to that!" and Lord Fulkeward roused himself to some faint show of energy. "Who wouldn't admire her? By Jove! Only, I tell you what there's something I weird about her eyes. Fact! I don't like her eyes." "Shut up, Fulke!
She may be perfectly proper she MAY be but she is not the style we are accustomed to in London." "I should rather think not!" interrupted Lord Fulkeward, hastily. "By Jove! She wouldn't have a hair left on her head in London, don'cher know!" "What do you mean?" inquired Muriel Chetwynd Lyle, simpering. "You really do say such funny things, Lord Fulkeward!"
Helen Murray shivered and grew pale as death when she heard it; lively old Lady Fulkeward simpered and giggled, and declared it was "the most delightful thing she had ever heard of!" an elopement in the desert was "so exquisitely romantic!"
The sombre portal, fantastically ornamented with designs copied from some of the Egyptian monuments, rather resembled the gateway of a tomb than an entrance to the private residence of a beautiful living woman, and Fulkeward, noting his companion's silence, added: "Not a very cheerful corner, is it? Some of these places are regular holes, don'cher know; but I daresay it's all right inside."
He moved slowly towards the group of men awaiting his approach with a reserved air of something like hauteur; it was possible he was conscious of his good looks, but it was equally evident that he did not desire to be made the object of impertinent remark. His friends silently recognized this, and only Lord Fulkeward, moved to a mild transport of admiration, ventured to comment on his appearance.
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