"Lord, it was lucky you were back!"

"Yes, it was--lucky," she assented. "If it had been half an hour
before--"

She broke off. There came to the young man a sobering perception of
the risk she ran, of the supreme folly of this escapade to which
they were entrusting themselves.

It was a realization that deserved some consideration. But,
obstinately, with young carelessness, he shook it off. After all,
this was comparatively safe for her. She was not out of bounds. At
an alarm he could slip away and no one could ever know. What risk
there might be was chiefly his own.

"When you asked who it was," he murmured, "it occurred to me that
you did not know my name--nor I yours. My own," he added, as she
stood unresponsive, "is Ryder--Jack Ryder. You can always get a
letter to me at the Agricultural Bank. That is the quickest way. My
friend, McLean there, always knows where my diggings are. When in
Cairo I stop with him; or at the Rossmore House."

"I shall not need to get a letter to you, monsieur," she told him
stiffly.

"But, if you did, how would you sign it?"

"Aimée.... That is French--after my mother."