Two of the women had their arms about her, affectionately, but not
without a hint of who controlled the situation.

"What have you been doing?" Fred demanded, and be laughed at Gloria
Vanderman with an air of triumph.

"Making preparations," I said, "to take Miss Vanderman to Tarsus."

I wish I could set down here a chart of the mixed emotions then
expressed on that young lady's face. She did not look at Will,
knowing perhaps that she already had him captive of her bow and spear.
Neither did Will look at us, but sat tracing figures with a forefinger
in the dust between his knees, wondering perhaps how to excuse or
explain, and getting no comfort.

If my guess was correct, Gloria Vanderman was about equally distracted
between the alternative ignominy of submitting her free will to Armenians
or else to us. Compassion for the women in their predicament weighed
one way--knowledge that our friend Monty was in durance vile contingent
on her actions pulled heavily another Fred was frankly enjoying himself,
which influenced her strongly toward the Armenian side, she being
young and, doubtless the idol of a hundred heart-sick Americans,
contemptuous of forty-year-old bachelors.

"Of course we shall not let you go!" one of the Armenians assured
her in quite good English, and I began fumbling at the pistol in
my inner pocket, for if Arabaiji was to run to Zeitoon, then the
sooner the better. But it needed only that imputation of helplessness
to tip the beam of Miss Gloria's judgment.