Mosques and churches and tombs had to be visited, but did not appeal to
all tastes. The Bazaars did. So did the Zoo, more fascinating than any
other zoo, because each animal has its trick, or pet, or plaything.

As an excuse to see Monny and the rest of my friends, I got up a
moonlight digging expedition at Fustat, those great mounds of rubbish
and buried treasure near Egyptian Babylon where a city was burnt lest
it should fall into the hands of the Crusaders. Monny and her party
were invited to join us, and accepted the invitation, piloted by
"Antoun." And concerning this entertainment, I had an idea. Those who
choose to dig among these desert-like sandhills, between the Coptic
churches of Babylon and the tombs of the Mamelukes, may chance on
something of value, especially after a windstorm or a landslip: bits of
Persian pottery, fragments of iridescent glass, broken bracelets of
enamel, opaline beads, or tiny gods and goddesses. Why should I not
(thought I) apportion off to each member of the band his or her own
digging patch? This would save squabbling, and would provide an
opportunity for me to propose in a unique way to Monny.

Regarding the idea as an inspiration, I carried it out scientifically.
Helped by Anthony, after the sun had set and the mounds were deserted,
I staked out the most promising "claims," and marked each space with
the name of the "miner" for whom I intended it. In Monny's patch, near
the surface where she could not possibly miss it, I buried a letter
wrapped round a cow-eared head of Hathor which I had bought at the
Egyptian Museum-shop. Now, in justice to myself, I must tell you that
this letter was no common letter, such as any Tom, Dick, or Harry may
write to the Mary Jane Smith of the moment. It was a missive which cost
me midnight electricity and brain-strain; for not only must I appeal to
my lady, I must also suit an environment.