I raised my head. “Yes, I know, Hodja Effendi, I shall be veiled, since it is necessary.” Then I was silent.
The old Imam went away, not understanding what had happened to me, and without my having kissed his hand. I remained in the same place, my elbows on the table. I was alone. All around was deadly still.
Suddenly, however, Miss M. opened the door; her eyes were red. Gently shutting the door and coming towards me, she said:
“Neyr, I have seen the Imam, and I understand that from to-morrow you must be veiled.”
I saw the pain stamped on her face, but I could say nothing. Already she had taken me in her arms and carried me into her room at the end of the corridor, murmuring all the while, “The brutes!”
Together we wept; I, without unnecessary complaints, she without useless consolation.
Once my sorrow had passed a little, I questioned my governess.
“You are English, are you not?”
“Yes, dear, I am English.”
“In England are the women veiled, and the children free?”