“For my wife’s been her comrade. And her mate—would you like to know her mate? She’s married, you know.”
Dimsdale’s face was pale. He was about to reply, when a lady came into view, leaning on the arm of an Agency Secretary. At first she did not see Dimsdale, then within a foot or two of him she suddenly stopped. The Secretary felt her hand twitch on his arm; then she clenched the fingers firmly on her fan.
“My dear Dimsdale,” Fielding said, “you must let me introduce you to Mrs. St. John.”
Dimsdale behaved very well, the lady perfectly. She held out both her hands to him.
“We are old, old friends, Mr. Dimsdale and I. I have kept the next dance for him,” she added, turning to Fielding, who smiled placidly and left with the Secretary.
For a moment there was silence, then she said quietly: “Let me congratulate you on all you have done. Everybody is talking about you. They say it is wonderful how you have made things come your way.... I am very, very glad.”
Dimsdale was stubborn and indignant and anything a man can be whose amour propre has had a shock.
“I know all,” he said bluntly. “I know what you’ve done for me.”
“Well, are you as sorry I did it as I am to know you know it?” she asked just a little faintly, for she had her own sort of heart, and it worked in its own sort of way.
“Why this sudden interest in my affairs? You laughed at me when I made up my mind to come to Egypt.”