"I find you are only half persuaded as to the peaceable nature of our
task, Irene," he said.

"I find it even more difficult to persuade you that Count von Kerber
fears interference, grandad."

"My dear child, these foreigners are all nerves. Look at me. I have
spent twenty years of my life among the Arabs, and felt safer there
than in a London crowd."

"Yes, you dear old thing, but you are not Count von Kerber."

"Nerves, Irene, nothing else. At any rate, your Mr. King should adjust
the average in that respect. And if you begin to talk of risk I shall
have to reconsider my decision to take you with us."

The chestnut threw up his head, and pranced excitedly, having been
warned that a gallop was imminent.

"No, you don't," laughed Irene. "If we Fenshawes do not forget, we also
stick together. By-by. See you at lunch."

And she was gone, sitting her horse with the ease and sureness of one
of those Arabs in whom her grandfather placed such confidence.




CHAPTER III