Meanwhile he thought of the king's letter, of Bent-Anat, and whether it
would be advisable to expose himself to a rejection on her part.

After the meal he gave himself up to his body-servant, who carefully
shaved, painted, dressed, and decorated him, and then held the mirror
before him.

He considered the reflection with anxious observation, and when he seated
himself in his litter to be borne to the house of his friend Katuti, he
said to himself that he still might claim to be called a handsome man.

If he paid his court to Bent-Anat--if she listened to his suit--what
then?

He would refer it to Katuti, who always knew how to say a decisive word
when he, entangled in a hundred pros and cons, feared to venture on a
final step.

By her advice he had sought to wed the princess, as a fresh mark of
honor--as an addition to his revenues--as a pledge for his personal
safety. His heart had never been more or less attached to her than to
any other beautiful woman in Egypt. Now her proud and noble personality
stood before his inward eye, and he felt as if he must look up to it as
to a vision high out of his reach. It vexed him that he had followed
Katuti's advice, and he began to wish his suit had been repulsed.
Marriage with Bent-Anat seemed to him beset with difficulties. His mood
was that of a man who craves some brilliant position, though he knows
that its requirements are beyond his powers--that of an ambitious soul to
whom kingly honors are offered on condition that he will never remove a