"My stewardess says he won't let his wife land till we're all off,"
murmured the ex-schoolmistress, in her colourless voice. "She heard the
end of a conversation, when she carried the poor girl's lunch to the
door--just a word or two. So we shan't see her again, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, we shall," said Monny. "If Wretched Bey can get a private
boat, so can I. I'll not desert her, if I have to stay on board the
_Laconia_ the whole night."

All four began talking together eagerly, and blessing Miss Guest I
sneaked away. Presently I saw that clever Neill Sheridan and handsome,
actor-like Willis Bailey, the two _betes noires_ of Wretched Bey, had
joined the group.

By this time the roofs and domes and minarets of Alexandria sparkled in
clearly sketched outlines between sunset-sky and sea; sunset of Egypt,
which divided ruby-flame of cloud, emerald dhurra, gold of desert, and
sapphire waters into separate bands of colour, vivid as the stripes of
a rainbow.

There was a new buzz of excitement on the decks and in the ivy draped
veranda cafe. Those who had been studying Baedeker gabbled history,
ancient and modern, until the conquest of Alexander and the bombardment
of '82 became a hopeless jumble in the ears of the ignorant. Bores who
had travelled inflicted advice on victims who had not. People told each
other pointless anecdotes of "the last time I was in Egypt," while
those forced to listen did so with the air of panthers waiting to
pounce. A pause for breath on the part of the enemy gave the wished-for
opportunity to spring into the breach with an adventure of their own.