jealously.

"I cannot help it, because--because my father--" She hesitated. The
honor of her father and her family pride and affection were all
involved, yet suddenly the sacrifice of these became more tolerable
than to consent to that image of herself which she saw swiftly
defining itself in his mind, that slight, weak creature, whose
acquiescent passivity submitted to this marriage.

The thought was unbearable. She was burning beneath her veil. She
would tell him.... And perhaps she was not averse, in her childish
pride, to the pitiful glory of having him see her in the beauty of
her filial sacrifice.

"My father has--has done something against the English laws," she
faltered, "and Hamdi Bey, this general, knows of it, and will inform
unless--unless my father makes this marriage. A cousin of his has
seen me," she added, her young vanity forlornly rearing its head,
"and told Hamdi that I am not--not too ill-looking a girl--"

Her essay of a laugh died.

Ryder's look deepened its sharp, defensive concentration.

"This is true--I mean your father is not just putting something
over--telling you to get your consent?"

Her thoughts flew back to her father's haggard face. "Oh, it is
true! I know."