tourist, and so you did not matter."

"Indeed," said Tamara, the fine in her grasping the situation, the
Underdown training resenting its unconventionality.

"Yes," he continued, unconcerned. "You can't look at that face and feel
we any of us matter much--can you?"

"No," said Tamara.

"How many thousand years has she been telling people that? But it
drives me mad, angry, furious, to see the tourists! I want to strangle
them all!"

He clenched his hand and his eyes flashed.

Tamara peeped up at him--he was not looking at her--but at the Sphinx.
She saw that he was extremely attractive in spite of having un-English
clothes, which were not worn with ease. Gray flannel of unspeakable
cut, and boots which would have made her brother Tom shriek with
laughter. The Underdown part of her whispered, could he be quite a
gentleman? But when he turned his face full upon her in the moonlight,
that doubt vanished completely. He might even be a very great
gentleman, she thought.

"Would you like to see a bit of the Arabian Nights?" he asked her.

Tamara rose. This really ought not to go on, this conversation--and
yet--