Pansy was not in the harem at the time, but lying on the lounge in her own room.
Sara's entrance roused her.
"My pearl, the Sultan is here," she said cajolingly. "And he desires to see you."
"I prefer to stay where I am," was the cold response.
The woman looked at her, speculating on the relations between this girl and the Sultan. They had once been so fond of one another, always together. And now the girl had been sent to the harem, and for three days the Sultan had not come near her.
"It's useless to resist, my pearl," Sara explained. "If you don't come when the Sultan commands, servants will be sent to fetch you."
Pansy had no wish to be dragged into her captor's presence.
Since she had to go, she might as well go with dignity.
However, she did not go very far. Only just beyond the door of her own quarters. Once there she sank down quickly on a pile of cushions, in her usual position, half sitting, half kneeling; a position that made the scantiness of her garment not quite so obvious.
At once she knew who the man in the white burnoose was, although she had never seen him in anything but civilised attire before. He was sitting on an ottoman near the fountain, with the girls clustered around him, fawning on him like dogs round a loved master.