"I don't know about repaying Mike," she said coldly. "There are some things which can never be repaid or bought."
Meg certainly got as good as she had given. "I never meant to suggest that I had so much wealth that it would be a burden to me. I think I shall find some way of spending it enjoyably." She turned to the left wing of the corridor; her bedroom lay there. "Now I must say good-night," she said, still more coolly. "I have a great deal to do." She looked down at her dress. "My luggage has never come on from Luxor—it's such a nuisance. I had to wear a 'dug-out' to-night, a blouse and skirt I wore in the desert. They have lain packed all that time—I never thought I should have to wear them again." As she spoke, she visualized her last evening in the camp, when she had given Hassan her instructions for their flitting. She had worn the blouse that same evening.
"It looks very nice," Margaret said carelessly.
"Oh, it's terrible! I didn't venture to come down to table d'hôte in it—I dined in my room. Good-night."
"You still wear your eye of Horus?" Margaret said; she had noticed the amulet the moment she saw Millicent in the lift.
"Of course! It is my most treasured possession."
Margaret longed to tell her that she knew where the bit of blue faience had been found on the day when it was lost in the hut. She burned to say, "You little prying cat, you read my diary!" instead of which she said, quite calmly:
"The Divine Eye ought to have known better than to be the cause of
Mohammed Ali's telling one of his finest lies."
"What do you mean?" Millicent asked. But even as she spoke, her face paled a little. "Your language has become quite cryptic—the result, I suppose, of your work in the tombs!"
"Probably," Margaret said. "Life in the Valley has taught me many things—but first and foremost, above all others, it has shown me the power and the danger of baksheesh. Good-night," she added quickly. "I've been keeping you."