He thinks of saying jocosely, "Shall I go and ask them?" but refrains, because he fears it would put it into her head to send him away.
A sort of piercing squeal makes itself heard from the salon.
"Do you think that that can be meant for a pig?" asks Elizabeth, her line ears pricked in unaffected interest. "Oh!"—with a return of uneasiness—"I wish that they would not make so much noise; father does so dislike noise. They might as well have put it off till to-morrow."
"Why would to-morrow's noise be more endurable than to-night's?"
"It would not have mattered to-morrow; father will not be here; he is going to Hammam Rhira."
Burgoyne's jaw drops. Is this the alternative course decided upon by
Mrs. Le Marchant? Having failed to dislodge him from Algiers, is she going to remove herself and her daughter out of his reach?
"Do you mean—are you all going to Hammam Rhira to-morrow?—all going away?"
Is it some effect of light from the rose-shaded lamp that makes it seem to him as if a tiny smile, and a yet smaller blush, swept over Elizabeth's face at the aghastness of his tone—an aghastness much more marked than he had intended it should be.
"Not to-morrow; not all of us. Father and mammy are going there for a couple of nights to see what the place is like—one hears such contradictory accounts; and if they are pleased with it—"