He spoke with a quiet assurance as of one in complete possession of her past. For the first time the question, "Has he heard of the famous Mrs. Chepstow? Does he—know?" flashed through her mind. It was possible. For he had been in Europe, to Paris. And he could read English, and perhaps had read many English papers.
"Did you ever hear of some one called 'Bella Donna'?" she said, slowly.
Her voice sounded careless, but her eyes were watching him closely.
"Bella Donna! But any beautiful woman may be that."
"Did you ever hear of Mrs. Chepstow?"
"No."
He stared at her, then added:
"Who is it. Does she come to Cairo in the winter?"
She felt certain he had not heard, and was not sure that she was glad. Her sort of fame might perhaps have attracted him. She wondered and longed to know. She longed to ask him many questions about his thoughts of women. But of course he would not tell her the truth. And men hate to be questioned by women.
"Does she come to Cairo?" he repeated.