"I'm not surprised Father worships the ground your ridiculous little
feet tread on, Mater," he said, causing his mother to gasp, so English
did he sound, so Oriental did he look.

"Dear!" she said gently, as she scrutinised him with a mother's eyes
and touched his face and patted his cheek and pulled a bit here and
there at his fine white linen coat, upon which in coarse thread was
embroidered the Hawk of Old Egypt. "Dear! don't you think you would be
happier if you were to marry and--settle down?"

And it was then that there came to her the full explanation of the hurt
reflected in her firstborn's eyes.

"I shall never marry, dear," very gently replied the man, so fearful
was he of causing pain to the woman who had borne him. "I--I--you see,
I cannot."

"Cannot, Hugh? But, my dear, what is the matter? You will have to,
some day, you know. You are your father's eldest son," answered the
woman, who, wrapped in perfect love and happiness, had never given a
thought to the far-reaching effects of her marriage with the Arabian.
"Dear son, there are so many beautiful, cultured, gentle women here and
at home--I mean in England--you------"

"Mother, please! Oh, Mother, you don't understand--dear heavens! you
don't understand. Listen--and, how I wish my father, whom I honour,
were here to comfort you. Forgive me, dear, forgive me for the pain I
must cause you------"

And the woman went white to the lips under a sudden blinding flash of