"I daresay there are still some rich ones. But maybe riches aren't the same with them as with us. That fellow at lunch to-day looks as if he'd plenty of money to spend on embroideries."
"Yes. And he looks important too—as if he might have travelled, and known a great many people of all sorts. I wish it were proper for me to talk to him."
"Good Heavens, why?" asked Stephen, startled. "It would be most improper."
"Yes, I'm afraid so, and I won't, of course, unless I get to know him in some way," went on Victoria. "Not that there's any chance of such a thing."
"I should hope not," exclaimed Stephen, who was privately of opinion that there was only too good a chance if the girl showed the Arab even the faintest sign of willingness to know and be known. "I've no right to ask it, of course, except that I'm much older than you and have seen more of the world—but do promise not to look at that nigger. I don't like his face."
"He isn't a nigger," objected Victoria. "But if he were, it wouldn't matter—nor whether one liked his face or not. He might be able to help me."
"To help you—in Algiers?"
"Yes, in the same way that you might be able to help me—or more, because he's an Arab, and must know Arabs."
Stephen forgot to press his request for her promise. "How can I help you?" he wanted to know.
"I'm not sure. Only, you're going to Algiers. I always ask everybody to help, if there's the slightest chance they can."