"I went into the garden," he murmured. "The fact is, I was feeling
awfully--queer," he brought out in an odd tone.

Queer was a good word for it. He let it go at that. He couldn't do
better.

Jinny looked suddenly uncertain. Her pique was streaked with
compunction. She had been horribly angry with him for running away,
and she remembered his opposition to the idea enough to be
suspicious of any disappearance--but there was certainly an accent
of embarrassed sincerity about him.

Perhaps he _had_ been ill. Sudden seizures were not unknown in
Egypt. And for all his desert brown he didn't look very rugged.

She murmured, "I hope you hadn't taken anything that disagreed with
you."

"H'm--it rather agreed with me at the time," said Jack, and then
brought himself up short. "I expect I haven't looked very sharp
after myself--"

But Jinny did not wholly renounce her idea. "Does it always take you
at dances you don't want to go to?"

"That's unfair. I came, you know."

"You came--and went."