"We are goin' to take our lunchin'; we are goin' to be out all day."
"Oh! And what about tea?"
"We are goin' to take it with us in that bottle that looks all made of silver."
"Silver and—gold," she murmured, looking into the radiant distance where Thebes lay cradled in the arms of the sun-god.
"And when are we going, Ibrahim?"
He looked at her, and his soft, pale brown lips stretched themselves and showed his dazzling teeth.
"When you are ready, my lady."
She looked up into his face. Ibrahim was twenty, but he was completely a boy, despite his great height and his tried capacities as a dragoman. Everything in him suggested rather the boy than the young man. His long and slim and flexible body, his long brown neck, his small head, covered with black hair which curled thickly, the expression in his generally smiling eyes, even his quiet gestures, his dreamy poses, his gait, his way of sitting down and of getting up, all conveyed, or seemed to convey, to those about him the fact that he was a boy. And there was something very attractive in this very definite youngness of his. Somehow it inspired confidence.
"I suppose I am ready now."
Mrs. Armine spoke slowly, always looking up at Ibrahim.