"What is the meaning of those tassels made of shells that Egyptians sometimes wear round their necks?"
"What sort of shells?" he asked.
"Cowries."
"Cowries—oh, they're supposed to be a charm against the evil eye and bad spirits. Where have you seen one?"
"On a donkey-boy up the Nile, at Luxor."
She changed the conversation.
They were sitting at dinner on either side of a folding table that rested on iron legs. Beneath their feet was a gaudy carpet, very thick and of a woolly texture, and so large that it completely concealed the hard earth within the circle of the canvas, which had a lining of deep red, covered with an elaborate pattern in black, white, yellow, blue, and green. The tent was lit up by an oil-lamp, round which several night moths revolved, occasionally striking against the globe of glass. The tent-door was open, and just outside stood Ibrahim, with his head and face wrapped up in a shawl with flowing fringes, to see that the native waiter did his duty properly. Through the opening came the faint sound of running water and the distant noise of the persistent barking of dogs. The opulent smell of the rich and humid land penetrated into the tent and mingled with the smell from the dishes.
Nigel's face was radiant. They had got right away from modern civilization into the wilds, and, manlike, he felt perfectly happy. He looked at Ruby, seeking a reflection of his joy, yet a little doubtful, too, realizing that this was an experiment for her, while to him it was an old story to which she was supplying the beautiful interest of love. She answered his look with one that set his mind at rest, which thrilled him, yet which only drew from him the prosaic remark:
"The cook isn't so bad, is he, Ruby?"
"Excellent," she said. "I don't know when I've had such a capital dinner. How can he do it all in a tent?"