Thinking all these brightly revengeful thoughts she had been
oblivious to the many turnings of the motor, though it had occurred
to her that they were taking more time than the car had needed to
appear, and now she looked out the window and saw that they were in
a narrow street lined with narrow houses, whose upper stories,
slightly projecting in little bays, all presented the elaborately
grilled façades of _mashrubiyeh_ work which announced the barred
quarters of the women, the _haremlik_.

Arlee loved to conjure up a romantic thrill for the mysterious East
by reflecting that behind these obscuring screens were women of all
ages and conditions, neglected wives and youthful favorites, eager
girls and revolting brides, whose myriad eyes, bright or dull or gay
or bitter, were peering into the tiny, cleverly arranged mirrors
which gave them a tilted view of the streets. It was the sense of
these watching eyes, these hidden women, which made those screened
windows so stirring to her young imagination.

The motor whirled out of the narrow street and into one that was
much wider and lined by houses that were detached and separated,
apparently, by gardens, for there was a frequent waving of palms
over the high walls which lined the road. The street was empty of
all except an old orange vender, shuffling slowly along, with a
cartwheel of a tray on her head, piled with yellow fruit shining
vividly in the hot sun. The quiet and the solitude gave a sense of
distance from the teeming bazaars and tourist-ridden haunts, which
breathed of seclusion and aloofness.

The car stopped and Arlee stepped out before a great house of