"But it's not my line, you know, Jinny," he was protesting. "I'm so
fearfully out of dancing--"

"More reason to come, Jack. You need a change from digging up ruins
all the time--it must be frightfully lonely out there on the desert.
I can't think how you stand it."

Jack Ryder smiled. There was no mortal use in explaining to Jinny
Jeffries that his life on the desert was the only life in the world,
that his ruins held more thrills than all the fevers of her tourist
crowds, and that he would rather gaze upon the mummied effigy of any
lady of the dynasty of Amenhotep than upon the freshest and fairest
of the damsels of the present day.

It would only tax Jinny's credulity and hurt her feelings. And he
liked Jinny--though not as he liked Queen Hatasu or the little
nameless creature he had dug out of a king's ante-room.

Jinny was an interfering modern. She was the incarnation of
impossible demands.

But of course there was no real reason why he should not stop over
and go to the dance.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, when she had extracted his promise and abandoned
him to the costumers, he was scourging his weakness.