Suddenly she felt like an ignorant and stupid child, like one unworthy of knowledge.
He sipped his coffee. He was now sitting in European fashion beside her on the divan, and his posture made it more difficult for her to accept his strange mentality; for he looked like a tremendously robust, yet very lithe and extremely handsome and determined young man, who might belong to a race of Southern Europe. Even with the tarbush upon his head his appearance was not unmistakably Eastern.
And this man, evidently quite seriously, talked to her about the birds singing to each other the praises of God.
"You ought to be differently dressed," she said.
"How?"
"In Egyptian clothes, not English flannels."
"Some day you shall see me like that," he said, reassuringly. "I often wear the kuftàn at night upon the Loulia."
"At night upon the Loulia! Then how on earth can I see you in it?"
She spoke with a sudden sharp irritation. To-day her marriage with Nigel seemed to her like a sword suspended above her, which would presently descend upon her, striking her to earth with all her capacity for happiness unused.
"You will see me with the drawers of linen, the sudeyree, the kuftàn, the gibbeh—or, as says my father, jubbeh—and the turban on my head. Only you must wait a little. But women do not like to wait for a pleasure. They are always in a hurry."