stopped, wondering if that were not beyond her hostess's experience.

In confirmation of the thought the Turkish lady smiled, with an
effect of disdain. "Ascend the pyramids--that is indeed too much for
us," she said. "But nothing is too much for you Americans--no?"

Her curious glance traveled slowly from Arlee's flushed and lovely
face, under the rose-crowned hat, down over the filmy white gown and
white-gloved hands clasping an ivory card case, to the small,
white-shod feet and silken ankles. Arlee did not resent the
deliberate scrutiny; in coming to gaze she had been offering herself
to be gazed upon, and she was conscious that the three of them
presented a most piquant group in this dim and spacious old room of
the East--the modern American girl, the cosmopolitan young officer
in his vivid uniform, and this sequestered woman, of a period of
transition where the kohl and henna of the _odalisque_ contrasted
with a coiffure and gown from Paris.

Slowly and disconnectedly the uninspiring conversation progressed.
Once, when it appeared halted forever, Arlee cast a helpless look at
the Captain and intercepted a sharp glance at his sister. Indeed,
Arlee thought, that sister was not distinguishing herself by her
grateful courtesy to this guest who was brightening the _tristesse_
of her secluded day, but perhaps this was due to her Oriental
languor or the limitations of their medium of speech.

It was a relief to have the Captain suggest music. At their polite
insistence Arlee went to the piano and did her best with a piece of
MacDowell. Then the sister took her turn, and to her surprise Arlee
found herself listening to an exquisite interpretation of some of