soon.... French and English and music and the philosophy--Oh, we
Turks are what you call blue stockings, monsieur, shut away with our
books and our dreams ... and our memories ... We are so young and
already the real world is a memory.... Sometimes," she said, with a
tremor of suppressed passion in her still little tones, "I could
wish that I had died when I was very young and so happy when my
father took me traveling in Europe.... I played games on the decks
of the ships ... I had my tea with the English children.... I went
down into the hold to play with their dogs..."

She broke off, between a laugh and a sigh, "Dogs are forbidden to
Moslems--but of course you know, if you have been here two years....
And emancipated as we may be, there is no changing the customs. We
must live as our grandmothers lived ... though we are not as our
grandmothers are..."

"With a French mother, you must be very far from what some of your
grandmothers were!"

"My poor French mother!" Whimsically the girl sighed. "Must I blame
it on her--the spirit that took me to the ball?... To-morrow
this will be a dream to me.... I shall not believe in my
shamelessness.... And you, too, must forget--"

"Forget?" said Ryder under his breath.

"Forget--and go. Positively you must go now, monsieur. It is very
dangerous here--"

"It is." There was a light dancing in his hazel eyes. "It is more