lost all interest for Diana. She wanted to get away from it, to forget
it, and she rode on unmindful of her escort, who, like her guide, had
stopped to speak with the traders. Diana's horse was fleet, and it was
some time before they caught her up. There was a look of annoyance on
Mustafa Ali's face as she turned on hearing them behind her and signed
to him to ride beside her.

"Mademoiselle is not interested in the caravan?" he asked curiously.

"No," she replied shortly, and asked for some details connected with
her own expedition. The man talked easily and well, in fluent French,
and after giving the required information, volunteered anecdotes
relating to various well-known people whom he had guided in the desert.
Diana watched him interestedly. He seemed a man of about middle age,
though it was difficult to guess more than approximately, for the
thick, peaked beard that hid both mouth and chin made him look older
than he really was. His beard had been his only drawback from Diana's
point of view, for she judged men by their mouths. Eyes were
untrustworthy evidences of character in an Oriental, for they usually
wavered under a European's. Mustafa Ali's were wavering now as she
looked at him, and it occurred to her that they had not seemed nearly
so shifty in Biskra when she had engaged him. But she attached no
importance to the thought, and dismissed it as much less interesting
than the great difference displayed in their respective modes of
riding. The Arab's exaggeratedly short stirrup would have given her
agonies of cramp. She pointed the difference with a laugh of amusement
and drew the man on to speak of his horses. The one Diana was riding
was an unusually fine beast, and had been one of the greatest points in
the guide's favour when he had brought it for her inspection. He was
enthusiastic in its praise, but volubly vague as to its antecedents,