made the way one long procession of shrieks, I still glanced at passing
carriages in hopes of a belated Biddy. All in vain! And destitute of
news I resigned myself to the task of piloting the Set out to Mena
House. The moon would be full that night--and it's "the thing" to be a
neighbour of the Sphinx while the moon feeds her with honey.

The Flock, under the guidance of Mr. Watts, had now definitely parted
from the Set, chieftained by me. They went meekly off to the cheaper
hotels, where they would live before boarding the _Candace_ again for
Palestine, and Colonel Corkran, who was supposed to have joined that
party, had announced that he was "bound for a long talk with Mark the
Lark." Mr. Watts, refused by Enid Biddell and separated from her, had
relapsed into melancholia. He had ceased to brilliantine his once sleek
hair, and dust and crumbs were allowed to collect in each fold of his
clerical waistcoat. As we of the Set buzzed richly away in taxicabs, I
saw him in a shabby arabeah between two old ladies, gazing wistfully
after us. He was envying me Enid!

It is a wonderful drive through Cairo to the Pyramids, whether you spin
out there in a motor, or trot on a donkey, or lilt on a camel,
squatting cross-legged on a load of green bersim. Past the great
swinging bridge, and the Island of Ghezireh (the word that in itself
means "island") begins the six-mile dyke, which is the road made by
Ismail to please the Empress Eugenie. Since her visit, in the days when
the Suez Canal was opened, it has pleased two empresses, and more
queens than I have time to count. Under the deep shade of lebbek trees
it goes on and on, toward the Pyramids, a dark cool avenue, high above
cultivated fields flooded by the Nile when the river is "up." The
emerald waves of grain flow like green water to the foot of the broad
dyke-road, and canals like long, tight-drawn blue ribbons are threaded