"I s'pose they are in a felucca, my lady. They are Noobian peoples. They
always make that song. It is a pretty song."

He gently moved his head, following the rhythm of the music. Between
the green and gold folds of his silken handkerchief his gentle brown
eyes always regarded her.

"Nubian people!" she said. "But Luxor isn't in Nubia."

"Noobia is up by Aswân. The obelisks come from there. I will show you
the obelisks to-morrow, my lady. There is no dragoman who understands
all 'bout obelisks like Ibrahim."

"I am sure there isn't. But"--those voices of the singing sailors were
beginning almost to obsess her--"are all the boatmen Nubians then?"

"Nao!" he replied, with a sudden cockney accent.

"But these that are singing?"

"I say they are Noobian peoples, my lady. They are Mahmoud Baroudi's
Noobian peoples."

"Baroudi's sailors!" said Mrs. Armine.

She sat up straight in her chair.

"But Mahmoud Baroudi isn't here, at Luxor?"