"Ruby," Nigel said, as he stood with her on the deck of the Loulia and looked up at the Arabic letters of gold inscribed above the doorway through which they were going to pass, "what is the exact meaning of those words? Baroudi told us that day at Luxor, but I've forgotten. It was some lesson of fate, something from the Koran. D'you remember?"
She turned up her veil over the brim of her burnt-straw hat. "Let me see!" she said.
She seemed to make an effort of memory, and lines came on her generally smooth forehead.
"I fancy it was 'The fate of every man have we bound about his neck,' or something very like that."
"Yes, that was it. We discussed it, and I said I wasn't a fatalist."
"Did you? Come along. Let's explore."
"Our floating home—yes."
He took hold of her arm.
"If my fate is bound about my neck, it's a happy fate," he said—"a fate I can wear as a jewel instead of bearing as a burden."
They went down the steps together, and vanished through the doorway into the shadows beyond.