only a rich man, but an influential one.

His name, he brought out at last, was Hamdi Bey. He was a general in
the armies of the sultan.

It was a long moment before she could piece any shreds of
recollection together.

Hamdi Bey ... A general.... Why, that was a man her father had
disliked ... more than once he had dropped resentful phrases of his
airs, his arrogance ... had recounted certain clashes with malicious
joy.

And now he was planning--no, seriously announcing--

A general ... He must be terribly old....

Not that it made any difference. Old or young, black or white,
general or ghikar, would mean nothing in her life. She would have
none of him ... none of him.... Never would she endure the
humiliation of being handed over like a toy, an odalisque, a
slave....

What had happened? She could only suppose that her father had been
overcome by that wealth of the general's on which he had made her
such a speech. Or perhaps his dislike of Hamdi had been founded on
nothing but resentment of Hamdi's airs of superiority, and now that
the bey was condescending to ask for her hand her father's flattered
appeasement was rushing into genial acceptance.