"And the full moon?"
"What about her?"
"Is she Bella Donna?"
He half closed his eyes and looked down.
"I don't ask you if she is donna onesta."
He replied: "She is sixteen, and she is a dancing-girl."
"I understand," she said, with an effort.
She shut her lips tightly and was silent, thinking of Nigel's return, of her departure with him to the Fayyûm, while this man, on his luxurious floating home, went on towards the south. She had resolved to live for the day. But when does any jealous woman live for the day? Jealousy hurls itself into the past and into the future, demanding of the one what was and of the other what will be. And—the canvas of a tent would enfold her, would make her prison walls! Why, why had she tied herself? A month ago, and she was utterly free. She could have gone to the south on the Loulia. Her whole body tingled, revolting against the yoke with which her will had burdened it. But when she spoke again her voice was lazy and calm?
"I suppose you won't stay on the Nile for ever?"
Again her fingers closed mechanically on one of the boxes.