It Happened in Egypt | Page 4

me up. We women folk are so in
the habit of believing anything you men folk tell us. It's really quaint!"
"Stop rotting, and tell me about yourself; and a truce to heiresses and
Cleopatras. You know I'm dying to hear."
"Not a syllable, until you've told me about yourself. Where you're
going, and what the dickens for!"
We laughed into each other's eyes. To do so, I had to look a long way
down, and she a long way up. This in itself is a pleasantly Victorian
thing for a man to do in these days of Jerrybuilt girls, on the same level
or a story or two higher than himself. I'm not a tall man: just the dull

average five foot ten or eleven that appears taller, while it keeps
lean--so naturally I have a hopeless yearning for nymph-like creatures
who pretend to be engaged when I ask them to dance. Still, there's
consolation and homely comfort in talking with a little woman who
makes you feel the next best thing to a giant. Biddy is an old-fashioned
five foot four in her highest heels; and as she smiled up at me I saw that
she hadn't changed a jot in the last ten years, despite the tragedy that
had involved her. Not a silver thread in the black hair, not a line on the
creamy round face.
"You're just yourself," I said.
"I oughtn't to be. I know that very well. I ought to be a Dido and Niobe
and Cassandra rolled into one. I'm a brute not to be dead or look a hag.
I've gone through horrors, and the secrets I know could put dozens of
people in prison, if not electrocute them. But you see I'm not the right
type of person for the kind of life I've had, as I should be if I were in a
story book, and the author had created me to suit my background. I
can't help flapping up out of my own ashes before they're cold. I can't
help laughing in the face of fate."
"And looking a girl of twenty-three, at most, while you do it!"
"If I look a girl, I must be a phenomenon as well as a phoenix, for
nobody knows better than you that my Bible age is thirty-one if it's a
day. And I think Burke and Debrett have got the same tale to tell about
you, eh?"
"They have. I was always delighted to share something with you."
"You can have the whole share of my age over twenty-six. There's one
advantage 'Mrs. Jones' has. She can, if her looking-glass doesn't forbid,
go back to that classic age dear to all sensible adventuresses. I'm afraid
I come under the head of adventuress, with my alias, and travelling as
companion to the rich Miss Gilder."
"You're the last person on earth for the part! Your fate was thrust on
you. You've thrust yourself on no one. Miss Gilder 'achieved' you."

"Collected me, rather, as one of her 'specimens.' She has a noble
weakness for lame ducks, and though she fails sometimes in trying to
strengthen their game legs, she tries gloriously. She and her aunt have
been travelling in France and Italy, guided by instinct and French maids,
and already Monny has picked up two weird protégées, sure to bring
her to grief. The most exciting and deadly specimen is a perfectly
beautiful American girl just married to a Turkish Bey who met her in
Paris, and is taking her home to Egypt. I haven't even seen the
unfortunate houri, because the Turk has shut her up in their cabin and
pretends she's seasick. Monny doesn't believe in the seasickness, and
sends secret notes in presents of flowers and boxes of chocolate. But I
have seen the Turk. He's pink and white and looks angelic, except for a
gleam deep down in his eyes, if Monny inquires after his wife when
any of her best young men are hanging about. Especially when there's
Neill Sheridan, a young Egyptologist from Harvard, Monny met in
Paris, or Willis Bailey, a fascinating sculptor who wants to study the
crystal eyes of wooden statues in the Museum at Cairo. He is going to
make them the fashion in America, next year. Yes, Madame Rechid
Bey is a most explosive protégée for a girl to have, on her way to Egypt.
I'm not sure even I am not innocuous by comparison; though I do wish
you hadn't reminded me of my poor little step-daughter Esmé, in her
convent-school. If any one should get the idea that Monny--but I won't
put it in words! Besides me, and the brand-new bride of Rechid Bey
('Wretched Bey' is our name for him), there's one more protégée, a
Miss Rachel Guest from