Since she refused to do the Sultan's bidding, and since he made no attempt to force obedience, there were half a dozen pairs of hands ready and eager to do the task Pansy scorned.
Rayma's gaze rested jealously on the English girl,
"Is it always what she likes, Casim, my Lord, and never what you wish?"
"She has been ill, and I humour her," he replied shortly.
"Ill or not she should be only too pleased to do your bidding. Are you not her Sultan and her master? I have no will except your wishes. I have no secrets hidden from you."
There was a world of insinuation in Rayma's voice. And it made the Sultan glance at Pansy in a quick, suspicious manner.
The only thing he suspected her of doing was trying to escape. He failed to see how she could get out of her present quarters, but the mere idea of losing her sent a chill through him.
"What are you hiding from me, Pansy?" he asked presently.
His close scrutiny brought a flush to her face, not through any sense of guilt, but because of her unaccustomed and scanty attire.
He saw the flush and his suspicions deepened. She was capable of doing herself some injury in order to get away from him.