"I shouldn't say 'surely' was the word. I'd gone out in a hurry and left things scattered about—which isn't my habit. When I came back, it struck me that my desk looked a bit tempting for a man with a retired conscience. I was going to keep him on the Candace, rather than fuss, because it wasn't so much his fault as mine that he was the wrong man in the place. He couldn't do any harm in Jerusalem, it seemed. Let him wail in the Jews' Wailing Place, if he'd any complaints, said I to myself. I thought he was too keen on money to resign because his silly pride was hurt. But to my surprise, he informed me that he'd come to 'hand in his papers,' as he called it. So much the worse for his pocket and the better for mine! Only it struck me as d—d queer, considering Corkran's character. I wanted to ask if he'd spit out any venom to you."
"Not a drop," said I. But I, too, thought it queer, considering Corkran's character, and the fact that having resigned of his own free will, he could hardly expect Lark to pay his way home. It even occurred to me to wonder if the resignation were not a sudden thought of the Colonel's. He had spoken several times of going on to Palestine, and had mentioned the trip that morning. Had Sir Marcus said something inadvertently, which had so piqued Corkran that he threw over his appointment on the impulse? Or had he perhaps been dishonourable enough to glance at a letter, in which Lark referred to him in terms uncomplimentary?
As I asked myself these questions, Mrs. East came in with Brigit, and Sir Marcus forgot me. His face said "What a woman!" And anxiety was becoming to Cleopatra. It gave to her that thrilling look which only beautiful Jewesses or women of Latin race ever wear: a look of all the tragedy and mystery of womanhood since Eve. "What news of them?" she asked Sir Marcus, when she had given a ringed hand and an almond-eyed glance to me.
"No news exactly," said the big man, "but I feel sure your niece and her friend are safe—"
"My niece and her friend!" exclaimed Cleopatra, ungratefully frowning. "Why do you say nothing of 'Antoun?' Does nobody care what becomes of him?"
As she spoke, there was a knock at the door. One of the Arab servants of the hotel announced that a man had a letter for Mrs. Jones.
"Mrs. Jones?" cried Biddy. "I am Mrs. Jones. Where's the letter?"
"That man not give it to us. He say he see you or not give it at all."
"Well, why didn't you send him up?"
"Arab mans not let in hotel, if peoples don't ask for them."