they had read the letter they would be able to do something about
it.

"They'll just _talk_!" cried Arlee passionately, her breast heaving.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to rave, she wanted to fly down
the stairs and hurl herself recklessly against that barring bayonet.
But because there was pride and spirit behind her delicate
loveliness she shut the door hard upon those imps of hysteria and
with high-held head and palely smiling lips she thanked the Captain
for the hospitality he was extending in his sister's name. Yes,
thank you, she would rejoin them at dinner. Yes, thank you, she
would like to go to her room now.

A serving maid, called by her hostess, conducted her--the blue-robed
girl, she thought, that she had seen drawing water at the well. A
black shawl hung from her head and dangling in its folds the
_yashmak_ ready to be slipped on at the approach of the men before
whom she must appear veiled. Her bare feet were thrust into scarlet
slippers, and as she moved silver anklets were visible, hanging
loosely over slim, brown ankles. Shuffling slightly, yet with an
erectly graceful carriage, the girl led the way into the ante-room
again, pulled open one of the closed doors in the opposite wall and
passed up an encased staircase wrapped in darkness. They emerged
into the dusk of a long, dim hall, where hanging lamps from the
ceiling shed a mild luster and a strong smell of oil, and passing
one or two doors on the right, the maid pushed, open one that was
rich in old gilding.

Crossing the threshold Arlee felt that she was crossing the