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Updated: June 9, 2025
When they met she said, "That cat Mrs. Mervill is here. Oh, Freddy, I hate her!" Freddy laughed. Millicent Mervill, with her extreme modernity and virile passions, was so far removed from the thought of the tomb, from the brown mummy, whose golden ribbons he had been examining; his sister's annoyance was so utterly unlike her mood of the earlier morning!
"Can't you possibly divorce him?" Michael did not mean that he would marry her if she did; his mind was groping for some solution of the problem. Millicent Mervill remained silent. "I could let him divorce me," she said at last. "Don't!" Michael said intuitively. His voice amused the woman. "I don't mean to," she said.
She stood sullenly outside the door. Why did not some strong man strangle women like Millicent Mervill? Why had not she herself the courage to tell her what she thought of her? Probably Millicent would only smile and show her perfect teeth they always made Meg furious, because they were even better than her own, and hers were, so she thought, her strongest asset and say, "Poor girl!
I want you all alone, Michael, in the loneliest part of the loneliest desert in the world, and I want as many kisses as there are stars in the heavens kisses that only my love and Egypt can teach you how to give!" "I must leave you," Michael said again, "if you will speak like that." He got up to go. Mrs. Mervill also rose from her reclining position on her long deck-chair, and sat upright.
In other words, it was the festival of the triumph of light over darkness, the power of righteousness over evil, the oldest of all battles. During the discussion Millicent Mervill was at her best. She was intellectually curious and excitable. The festival of Isis bored her; she did not care for or believe in the inevitable triumph of light over darkness.
When Michael entered the sitting-room of the hut, Millicent Mervill was reading one of Freddy's French novels. There had been plenty of time for her to powder herself and cool down and settle to her liking her dainty person. She looked as fresh and cool and pink as a bough of apple-blossom. She greeted Michael with a charming mixture of friendliness and discretion.
Michael was drifting towards the wide balcony, towards the fresh cool air of the river. "No," Meg said determinedly, "not there." A vision of Mrs. Mervill, pink and fair and seductive, had risen before her, the rose-leaf creature with the hard eyes, who had so abruptly broken her sympathy with Michael. Michael, without speaking, quickly turned the other way.
Anyone might have made the same remark with no arrière pensée in their words. Mrs. Mervill could not. Her remark contained an invitation; Michael knew it. "Can you never get away?" she asked. "It would be my expedition, if you would run it for me." Michael moved from her side, with the pretence of drawing a chair to within speaking distance of her.
Millicent Mervill was no fool. She meant to keep to her word, and did. The evening's excursion proved a great success and restored Michael to a more normal state of mind.
Margaret refused to accept it. "My brother and I have been dancing every dance and every extra and forgetting all about Egypt. Have you?" She turned to Mike. "No, I have been sitting this last one out with Mrs. Mervill. She feels tired. And certainly Egypt is very much here." He pointed to the scene before them. "Yes, quite another Egypt," Margaret said. "Egypt has so many souls."
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