The Sheik | Page 6

the sudden ring of
interest in her tone, and the sudden animation of her face.
"You say you have no emotion in your nature, and yet that unknown
man's singing has stirred you deeply. How do you reconcile the two?"
he asked, almost angrily.
"Is an appreciation of the beautiful emotion?" she challenged, with
uplifted eyes. "Surely not. Music, art, nature, everything beautiful
appeals to me. But there is nothing emotional in that. It is only that I
prefer beautiful things to ugly ones. For that reason even pretty clothes
appeal to me," she added, laughing.

"You are the best-dressed woman in Biskra," he acceded. "But is not
that a concession to the womanly feelings that you despise?"
"Not at all. To take an interest in one's clothes is not an exclusively
feminine vice. I like pretty dresses. I admit to spending some time in
thinking of colour schemes to go with my horrible hair, but I assure you
that my dressmaker has an easier life than Aubrey's tailor."
She sat silent, hoping that the singer might not have gone, but there was
no sound except a cicada chirping near her. She swung round in her
chair, looking in the direction from which it came. "Listen to him. Jolly
little chap! They are the first things I listen for when I get to Port Said.
They mean the East to me."
"Maddening little beasts!" said Arbuthnot irritably.
"They are going to be very friendly little beasts to me during the next
four weeks.... You don't know what this trip means to me. I like wild
places. The happiest times of my life have been spent camping in
America and India, and I have always wanted the desert more than
either of them. It is going to be a month of pure joy. I am going to be
enormously happy."
She stood up with a little laugh of intense pleasure, and half turned,
waiting for Arbuthnot. He got up reluctantly and stood silent beside her
for a few moments. "Diana, I wish you'd let me kiss you, just once," he
broke out miserably.
She looked up swiftly with a glint of anger in her eyes, and shook her
head. "No. That's not in the compact. I have never been kissed in my
life. It is one of the things that I do not understand." Her voice was
almost fierce.
She moved leisurely towards the hotel, and he paced beside her
wondering if he had forfeited her friendship by his outburst, but on the
verandah she halted and spoke in the frank tone of camaraderie in
which she had always addressed him. "Shall I see you in the morning?"

He understood. There was to be no more reference to what had passed
between them. The offer of friendship held, but only on her own terms.
He pulled himself together.
"Yes. We have arranged an escort of about a dozen of us to ride the
first few miles with you, to give you a proper send-off."
She made a laughing gesture of protest. "It will certainly need four
weeks of solitude to counteract the conceit I shall acquire," she said
lightly, as she passed into the ballroom.
A few hours later Diana came into her bedroom, and, switching on the
electric lights, tossed her gloves and programme into a chair. The room
was empty, for her maid had had a vertige at the suggestion that she
should accompany her mistress into the desert, and had been sent back
to Paris to await Diana's return. She had left during the day, to take
most of the heavy luggage with her.
Diana stood in the middle of the room and looked at the preparations
for the early start next morning with a little smile of satisfaction.
Everything was _en train_; the final arrangements had all been
concluded some days before. The camel caravan with the camp
equipment was due to leave Biskra a few hours before the time fixed
for the Mayos to start with Mustafa Ali, the reputable guide whom the
French authorities had reluctantly recommended. The two big
suit-cases that Diana was taking with her stood open, ready packed,
waiting only for the last few necessaries, and by them the steamer trunk
that Sir Aubrey would take charge of and leave in Paris as he passed
through. On a chaise-longue was laid out her riding kit ready for the
morning. Her smile broadened as she looked at the smart-cut breeches
and high brown boots. They were the clothes in which most of her life
had been spent, and in which she was far more at home than in the
pretty dresses over which she had laughed with Arbuthnot.
She was glad the dance was over; it was not a form of exercise that
appealed to