"Scarcely ever, but it might be well to think things out." Freddy disliked the idea of confiding family secrets to strangers. "When do you think of going?"
"When you leave here, I can go straight to Cairo. It will be cooler there. I don't know Cairo—don't forget, I've never seen even the Pyramids."
"And when do you mean to go home? The season's getting on."
"I don't know. It all depends on what news I can gather, or if a letter comes. I can easily stay in Cairo until I hear. You won't object to that?"
"No. It's beastly hot here, by Jove!" Freddy poured himself out a lemon-squash and drank it off. "I'm not sorry it's time to go home."
"I don't feel the heat very much—the nights keep pretty cool."
"You're looking fagged, all the same."
"Oh, I'm all right—it's anxiety that kills. If only I was certain that he wasn't ill, Freddy!"
"I don't see why you should think Mike's ill. He's leading an awfully healthy life. He's well accustomed to the desert. It's cooler with him than it is here."
"I know, but it's a very strained life. I have a conviction that he's ill. Whenever I think intently of him, I see him ill and suffering. These things must have their meaning."