There was no doubt about the fact that he was genuinely in love.
Lion or no lion in the vicinity, he would sit dreaming for hours amongst the rock tombs at full noon or fall of evening or by the light of the sickle-moon; a perfectly absurd proceeding where big game is concerned. Food or sleep meant nothing to him, so that his usual good-temper was sharpened and his undoubted good looks enchanced by a certain romantic gauntness under the cheek-bone. People seemed as ghosts to him, so absorbed was he in his love and his pain; so that his act of rising when Mrs. Sidmouth took what she thought to be a diplomatic departure was purely mechanical.
Then Sybil laughed, a jolly, ringing laugh, and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Why don't you run up to Heliopolis?"
"By jove, Sybil, that's an idea. You come along, too. Damaris would love to meet you; you're just her sort. Besides, there's nothing doing in lion here, it's only a yarn. Let's pack to-night and get off to-morrow. I'll go and see if we can get a private steamer—can't stick a public one, stopping every other minute to look at tombs!"
Sybil laughed.
"We'll go, Ben, it will be ripping. But to-morrow! How exactly like a man!"
Ben was contrite. He thought Sybil travelled with a kit-bag and her guns; he had forgotten Mamma.
Mamma protested. She was an invalid, with all an invalid's paraphernalia.
They started after the passing of a week in which Mrs. Sidmouth had a series of nerve-storms, and in which Sybil, to pass the time, wrote a four-page letter to Ellen Thistleton, which she duly received at breakfast.