“No, I’m not,” Muriel protested, hastily, and the colour came into her face.
Daniel looked from one to the other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m all at sea.”
The car moved away, and Muriel sat back in her corner luxuriously. She was very tired, and her feet ached. She was happy to find that she no longer felt awkward in this man’s presence, and that her feminine intuition had not deserted her, for she seemed to have learned the trick of managing him. It was only necessary to make herself useful to him, to roll her sleeves up and show a little muscle, and his antagonism evaporated. He was prehistoric—that was all; and yet she could not associate the idea of brutality with him. No, she had not quite classified him; but at any rate she realized that she had probably been wrong in regarding him as being contemptuous of her sex. He was only contemptuous of uselessness.
She glanced at him as he sat in silence by her side, and she noticed that his expression had become grave, and even sad.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look unhappy.”
He aroused himself, and smiled; but his eyes were troubled.
“Yes, I feel a bit blue,” he said. “I suppose it’s the thought of my new job.”
“I’m rather surprised,” she commented, “that you have taken it on. Why did you?”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I thought it was my duty,” he said. “You see I happen to speak Arabic as fluently as I speak English, and I’ve made a study of the native mind. I understand these fellows and they understand me; and Egypt just now is craving for understanding.”
“You’ve got a lot to live up to,” she told him. “My father thinks you are going to be the saving of the country. I’m always hearing your praises sung.”