“You were too cruel. I shall tell the Consul.”
At that he sprang up as a man demented and rushed out. No sooner was he gone than she relapsed to weeping, stricken by the curse of utter helplessness which underlay her pitiful pretence at pride. To have been beaten black and blue by Yûsuf would have been less ignominious than to let the Consul know she was unhappy. She had walked into this guarded life with open eyes, aware of the conditions which must thenceforth fetter her existence, boasting love for them. The least complaint, much more retreat, was thus impossible. Even in the heat of anger she had had no real intention to go back. Yûsuf had enraged her, the mob upon the previous day had frightened her exceedingly; but after all they were her chosen people, though so strange. She could never come to hate them as she did the English.
She rose at last with mind to go into another room. The door was locked. Upon her trying it a slave-girl shouted:
“It is forbidden to go out. Does my lady require anything that I can bring her?”
Barakah bit her lip and flushed as she turned back. Remembrance of her boasting yesterday before those Englishwomen rose to taunt her.
A little sunlight entered through the lattice like gold-dust. The gardener was at his work of watering—a lengthy process—assisted by his little son and by Ghandûr, Fatûmah playing round and teasing them. She heard their shouts and the familiar noises marking stages of the work; and by degrees, as she sat idle, listening, a measure of contentment came to her. Her troubles were of her own making; she had tempted Providence by flouting rules she had herself accepted. Henceforth, she vowed, she would be passive, of a boldness purely speculative, like Gulbeyzah.
It was not very long before the room door opened, admitting Yûsuf and his father, both with faces of concern. Saluting, in his courtly way, the Pasha offered an unqualified apology for everything that might displease her in the customs of the country. His son had told him of the trouble which had come between them. It arose from a simple and entirely pardonable misunderstanding, as he hoped at once to demonstrate to her well-known intelligence, if she would pay him the distinguished compliment of attending for a little moment to his explanation.
With that, he crossed one leg beneath him on the sofa, a compromise between the Eastern and the Western attitude, and began:
“I told you, if you will have the goodness to remember, when first the question of a marriage with my son arose between us, that we had stricter rules for the protection of our women than prevail in Europe. I also told you that, those rules once honoured, a woman had all freedom and consideration. I did wrong, I now perceive with infinite regret, not to explain to you precisely the reason and the nature of those rules; for, see, entirely owing to that fault of mine, you have transgressed them innocently. I should like, if you permit it, to expound their general tendency and benevolent intention.”
Barakah was sore abashed. The Pasha’s entrance, the intervention of so dignified a person in a childish quarrel due to her misconduct, overwhelmed her. At this point in his speech she interjected: