has recalled my face."

I was honestly not sure whether this were further deviltry, or an
appeal for help. In any case, I thought it time for the scene to end.
"I told you," I said to Monny in English, "that he was a man of
importance, not at all the sort of person you could expect to engage
for a guide. You must see now that he's a gentleman. And a--a--an
Egyptian gentleman is just the same as any other."

"Surely not quite!" she answered in the same language, and I realized
my foolish mistake in using it, as if I meant her to understand that
Antoun Effendi knew it too little to catch our secrets.

"An Egyptian man can't have the same feelings as a European? Why, for
hundreds and hundreds of years they've been an enslaved race, like our
black people at home. We'd never think of calling even the fairest
quadroon man a gentleman, though he might be wonderfully good looking
and nice mannered."

Literally, I was frightened. Anthony Fenton is fiercely devoted to the
memory of the beautiful princess-mother, for love of whom his father's
career was ruined. _Her_ mother was a Sicilian woman, and her father
was half Greek, so there is little enough Egyptian blood, after all, in
the veins of General Fenton's son. He is proud of what there is--proud,
because of his mother's fatal charm, and the romance of her story (it
was on the eve of her wedding with a cousin of the Sultan that the
famous soldier Charles Fenton ran away with Princess Lalla and married
her in Sicily): but he is sensitive, too, because, great name as
Charles Fenton had made in Egypt, he was asked to resign his commission
on account of the escapade. Anthony, sent to England to a public