But the peculiar flavor of his helplessness was not so much fear before the fanatic fury of this man he had outraged, although he had a clear notion that his position was not enviably secure, but a bitter, black chagrin.
To have had the game in his hands and have bungled it! To have been surprised by that simple strategy, taken off his guard by a feigned collapse! The wily old Turk for all his champagne had the clearer, quicker brain....
To have let him get to Aimée and call in his black! To have been thrown, disarmed.... It was crass stupidity. It was outrageous mismanagement, abominable, maddening....
And Aimée must pay for it. He tried to think very quickly what could best clear her.
He fixed his eyes on those glittering eyes, staring down upon him.
"I realize I owe you an explanation," he said grimly. "If you will let me tell you—"
The bey turned to Aimée with a smile that was the lifting of a lip and the distention of his nostrils.
"This fool thinks he has the time to talk—his English."
Desperately Ryder grasped for his vernacular. "I want to tell you—why I came. This—this young lady doesn't know me."
Past the general he shot a look of warning at the girl.