The room was even fuller than she had expected. Her entrance seemed to cause a great sensation. Her heart sank, there was singing in her ears; she encountered all those faces with a sense of drowning. Moving mechanically in a trance of apprehension, it was with surprise a minute later that she found herself ensconced in a deck-chair beside an open window, alive and quite uninjured, though her pulse beat high. She removed her mouth-veil then and looked about her. It seemed to be a gathering of the whole English colony, with the addition of some French and German ladies. The Consul, her aversion, was talking with some other men, who formed a standing group. He took no notice of her, rather pointedly. The women, thirty at the least, kept up a din of chatter.
The hostess came and introduced her to the ladies near her. Though the manner in which this was done was very kind, Barakah felt that Mrs. Cameron disliked her coming. That lady looked upon her as a fallen creature, to be visited and seen occasionally out of charity, no longer to be classed with English women. The prejudice stung Barakah to downright impudence. Abashment left her. She began to chatter and laugh loudly just to let her hostess know that she was somebody. Sipping her tea, she talked of harîm life, deriding the false notions which prevailed concerning it. It was perfectly delightful, not a bit what Europeans thought. She proceeded to retail her own experiences. In a trice she gathered half a score of eager listeners.
But is not this or that the case invariably? they inquired. She was able to confute them always, with amusing instances. She sank her voice, the listening heads drew nearer; there were stifled giggles. Certain stories she had picked up from Gulbeyzah were quite killing. She told of the old woman who was set to guard her—“an Oriental Mrs. Grundy,” she assured them—and her horror at her going out alone that afternoon.
“But my husband doesn’t mind a bit, of course. The dear man lets me do just what I like. It is only middle-class people nowadays who are strict about seclusion.... Oh, by the way, do you know Princess Amînah?...”
She had never in her life talked so effectively. The stored frivolity of weeks was spent in one short hour; while with the tail of an eye she noted Mrs. Cameron’s disgust at her small social triumph, the shrugs and glances she exchanged with her own kind.
While her success was at its height, she readjusted her white muslin mouth-veil and got up to go.
“Thank you for a most delightful hour,” she gushed at taking leave, receiving in reply a look which plainly said: “You have deteriorated.”
Going out upon the wave of her excitement, she suddenly remembered that she had dismissed her carriage. It was no matter. The distance to be traversed was no more than half a mile, the road a straight one, shady at that hour. The little walk would serve to cool her wits.
But Ghandûr, who was squatting by the outer door, sprang up at sight of her. He bade her “Wait!” with a profusion of engaging grins and frantic gestures. Taking her assent for granted, when she stopped to argue, he set off down the lane at a great pace, trailing a plume of dust from either heel.
Seeing she still moved on, despite her servant’s warning, the doorkeeper of the house stepped forward and, saluting, begged her to return indoors. When she refused, he shrugged despairingly and with some word which sounded like an oath went back to his own seat. The waiting grooms and donkey-boys called out, and standing together in a little crowd stared after her. She thought them merely rude.