Out at the gate the Consul eyed her carriage with intense disfavour, especially Sawwâb the eunuch, who stood ready at the door.
“You will kindly come in mine,” he said peremptorily.
“Then you will kindly tell the Pasha’s man to follow,” she replied, with eyes that twinkled laughter at his show of temper.
He shouted to the Pasha’s coachman, and got in beside her. For a while they drove in silence, the Consul stealing glances at her face from time to time. She knew that he was struck by the new charm of her. His manner had a dash of gallantry which was amusing.
“I hate to see you in that carriage, with those servants,” he exclaimed at length impulsively. “You must forgive me. I have lived here years, and know the country.”
Again she laughed and her eyes quizzed him. The thought that she knew more than he did, possibly, was made conviction by his next remark:
“Please realize that you are absolutely free. Whatever may have happened—I mean whatever influences have been brought to bear—those people cannot hurt you now, or even reach you.” This man who knew the country suspected the good Pasha of iniquity, and looked upon his palace as a den of vice. She said:
“There has been nothing of the kind. I have never been so kindly treated or so happy.”
He hemmed and hawed, remarking:
“Well, remember what I say. And don’t forget that, as a British subject here, you have great privileges which, whatever happens, you will be unwise to forfeit. I hope you will confide in Mrs. Cameron. There is no one in this world more kind and trustworthy.”