"Baroudi is a very practical man," said Nigel. "I only wish I had him as my overseer in the Fayyūm."
"If I can ever give you advice I shall be very glad," said Baroudi. "I know all about agriculture in my country."
Mrs. Armine leaned back, and looked at the broad river, upon which there were many native boats creeping southward with outspread sails, at the columns of the great Temple of Luxor standing up boldly upon the eastern bank, at the cloud of palm-trees northward beyond the village, at the far-off reaches of water, at the bare and precipitous hills that keep the deserts of Libya. At all these features of the landscape she looked with eyes that seemed to be new.
"Talk about agriculture to my husband, Mahmoud Baroudi," she said. "Forget I am here, both of you."
"But—"
"Pas de compliments! This is my first visit to a dahabeeyah. Your Nile is making me dream. If only the sailors were singing!"
"They shall sing."
He went up a few steps, and looked over the upper deck; then he called out some guttural words. Almost instantly the throb of the daraboukkeh was audible, and then a nasal cry: "Al-lah!"
"And now—talk about agriculture!"
Baroudi turned away to Nigel, and began to talk to him in a low voice, while Mrs. Armine sat quite still, always watching the Nile, and always listening to the sailors singing. Presently tea was brought, but even then she preserved, smiling, her soft but complete detachment.