"So, so," said the young man, riding in front. Then he laughed, and
putting his hand in his pocket, brought out a quantity of silver and
flung it among them with merry words in Arabic, while he pointed to the
windows of the house.

Then he seized the bridle of Tamara's camel and started his horse
forward. The crowd smiled now and began scrambling for the baksheesh,
and so they got through in peace.

Neither spoke until they were in a silent lane again.

"Sometimes they can be quite disagreeable," he said, "but it is amusing
to see it all. The Sheikh lives here--he fancies the pyramids belong to
him, just as the Khedive fancies all Egypt is his--life is mostly
imagination."

Now Tamara could see his face better as he looked up to her superior
height on the camel. He had a little moustache and peculiarly chiseled
lips--too chiseled for a man, she thought for a moment, until she
noticed the firm jaw. His eyes were sleepy--slightly Oriental in their
setting, and looked very dark, and yet something made her think that in
daylight they might be blue or gray.

He did not smile at all; as he spoke his face was grave, but when
something made him laugh as they turned the next corner, it transformed
him. It was the rippling spontaneous gaiety of a child.

Two goats had got loose from opposite hovels and were butting at one
another in the middle of the road.