CHAPTER XVIII
THE INVENTIVENESS OF SEMMEYA HANOUM
IT was from curiosity rather than from friendship that I accepted Semmeya Hanoum’s pressing invitation to spend a few days with her, shortly after Nashan’s wedding. As I said in a previous chapter, we had never looked on Semmeya as one of us. We did not trust her, and where there is no trust how can there be friendship? Still, since I was burning to know what sort of a wife she had made, I replied to her pressing invitation with alacrity.
I did not have to wait very long before I knew that Semmeya Hanoum was the same as ever—that she would rather cheat than play fair. She was the mother of a dear, little boy; and it was easy to see that Sendi Bey was the slave of his wife. At the same time it required no cleverness on my part to discover that he did not trust her, and did not believe her word.
I have always wondered, and I suppose that I shall continue to wonder till I die, and learn the explanation of many riddles, how it is that a good, upright man can remain in love with a woman whom he cannot trust. On the contrary, it often seems as if the less confidence a man has in his wife, the more in love he remains with her.
On the second morning of my arrival, nature outside was making herself beautiful as if to pose for her portrait. We had finished our breakfast, and were sitting on a couch together when her husband came in, a dark cloud on his forehead. He gave his wife a severe look, which Semmeya met with the candour of an angel.
“I am delighted to see you so early, my Bey Effendi,” she said sweetly. “I hope you have slept well,” and as he remained standing, she continued: “Won’t you sit down by us, my Effendi?”
“Beauty!” thundered the man, “why did you misbehave yesterday afternoon while you were out driving?”
An expression of utter amazement overspread her features.
“Don’t trouble yourself to deny it—you know that it is true,” the husband continued, striving to master his anger.