"Do not," exclaimed Abdullah, "unless," he added, "you fear for your complexion."
"I do not fear for my complexion," said the girl, "but for my reputation; and she smiled again.
"That," said Abdullah, "is henceforth in my keeping. Pay no heed to it."
"I am not yet your wife," said the girl.
"True," said Abdullah, "and we are making this forced march to learn how I may make you such. Who is your father, beloved?"
"Ilderhim," she answered; "but why do you ask? You saw him when we started from El Merb."
"Do you love him?" asked Abdullah.
"I scarcely know," answered the girl, after a pause. "I have not seen him often. He is constantly from home. He buys me pretty clothes and permits me to go to the cemetery each Friday with my maid. I suppose I love him—not as I love you, or as I love the camel that brought me to you, or the sandal on your foot, or the sand it presses—still, I think I must love him—but I never thought about it before."
"And your mother?" asked Abdullah.
"I have no mother," said the girl. "She died before I can remember."