Rayma clenched her little white teeth.
Then there would be a battle royal between this white girl and herself for his favors. But she would not let his heart go lightly.
Stretched full length on her couch, her elbows on the soft cushions, her pointed chin in the cup of her hands, the Arab girl lay watching her rival and waiting.
The evening wore on. The lamps burnt low, and started to flare and crackle, without any sign of the Sultan coming.
Presently, shriek after shriek, echoing through the vaulted hall, roused Pansy from her broodings, making her look round in a quick, startled manner. The shrieks were familiar. Muffled they had reached her every evening in that dim, gilded chamber.
"It's only Rayma," Leonora said indifferently. "She has hysterics every night because the Sultan does not come. He has not been to the harem now for three months or longer. Not since he left the city on some foray. She fears some other girl has stolen his heart from her."
Leonora paused, her great eyes on the new-comer.
"Is it you, my sister?" she finished inquisitively. "For, if so, I shall love you."
But Pansy had nothing to say.
At that moment she was wondering why Rayma shrieked because the Sultan had not come. There seemed to her more reason to shriek if he did come.