on the right."

Barred on the garden, and on the street the impregnable wooden
screens of the mashrubiyeh, those were the rooms where this girl
beside him was to spend her life--until that most indulgent father
wearied of her modernity and transferred her to other rooms, as
barred and screened, in the palace of some husband!... That thought
was brushing Ryder ... with other thoughts of her present risk ...
of her lovely eyes, visible again, above the veil, thoughts of the
strangeness and unreality of it all ... there in the shrubbery of a
pasha's garden, the pasha's daughter whispering at his side.

"What about your mother--?" he asked her. "Is she--?"

"She is dead," the girl told him, with a drop in her voice.

And after a long moment of silence, "When I was so little--but I
remember her, oh, indeed I do ... She was French, monsieur."

"Oh! And so you--"

"I am French-Turk," she whispered back. "That is very often so--in
the harems of Cairo.... She was so lovely," said the girl wistfully.
"My father must have loved her very much ... he never brought
another wife here. Always I lived alone with my old nurse and the
governesses--"

"You had--lessons?"

"Oh, nothing but lessons--all of that world which was shut away so