CHAPTER XXII
Early the next morning when Pansy was splashing about in the great underground tank, a voice made her look up in a startled fashion. So far no one had intruded on her ablutions.
It was a soft, purring, malicious little voice that said in lisping French:
"Now I see why you always come here early. Why you don't bathe with me and the other girls."
On the broad marble steps Rayma stood, looking down at her rival spitefully.
"I come early because I'm not used to bathing before people," Pansy replied, hoping the other would take the hint and go.
But Rayma did not go. She seated herself on the steps and stayed there, her black eyes fixed on the graceful girl in the water.
"Has the Sultan seen those scars?" she asked, pointing a slim disparaging finger at the network of red marks and ridges on Pansy's thigh and side.
Pansy flushed at the question.
"Of course not," she cried indignantly.