Muriel laughed disdainfully.

"You had better tell Mr. Denzil Murray that; he is in a bad enough
humor now, and that remark of yours wouldn't improve it, I can
tell you!"

She broke off abruptly, as a slim, fair girl, dressed as a Greek
vestal in white, with a chaplet of silver myrtle-leaves round her
hair, suddenly approached and touched Dr. Dean on the arm.

"Can I speak to you a moment?" she asked.

"My dear Miss Murray! Of course!" and the Doctor turned to her at
once. "What is it?"

She paced with him a few steps in silence, while Muriel Chetwynd
Lyle moved languidly away from the terrace and re-entered the
ball-room.

"What is it?" repeated Dr. Dean. "You seem distressed; come, tell
me all about it!"

Helen Murray lifted her eyes--the soft, violet-gray eyes that Lord
Fulkeward had said he admired--suffused with tears, and fixed them
on the old man's face.

"I wish," she said--"I wish we had never come to Egypt! I feel as
if some great misfortune were going to happen to us; I do, indeed!
Oh, Dr. Dean, have you watched my brother this evening?"