"I thought you said he was a saint?" murmured Jinny, to which
interpolation he responded, "Wouldn't three wives make any man a
saint?" and resumed his narrative.

"And so he had his tomb made where he could overlook the whole city
and observe the conduct of his widows."

"They could move," objected Miss Jeffries.

"The female of the Mohammedan species is not the free agent that you
imagine," Ryder retorted, beginning with a smile and ending with a
queer, reminiscent pang. He had a moment's rather complicated twinge
of amusement at her reactions if she should know that to an
encounter with a female of the Mohammedan species was to be
attributed his departure from her party last night.

And then he remembered that he hadn't decided yet what to tell her
and the time was undoubtedly at hand.

The time _was_ at hand. The Pendletons were too thorough-going
Americans not to abdicate before the young. They did not saunter
self-consciously away and make any opportunity for Jack and Jinny,
as sympathetic European chaperons might have done; they sat
matter-of-factedly upon the rocks while their competent young people
betook themselves to higher heights.

Conscientiously Ryder was pointing out the pyramid fields.

"Gizeh, Abusir, Sakkara, Dahsur--and now here, if you look--that's
the Medun pyramid--that tiny, sharp prick. If we had glasses...."