“It will never be the same,” she sighed at last.
“Of course it won’t,” he agreed. “But do you really wish it?”
“I—I don’t know,” she hesitated.
“Of course you don’t. None of us does. We’ve been whirled completely out of that world. When we get back, if we do—” his voice fell, “then’s the only time we’ll really know what we want. That’s why I say, ‘forget the post-war problems. Let’s get on with the war.’ We—”
“Look!” She gripped his arm. “There’s an Arab. The head-waiter is bringing him this way. Oh, I’m scared.”
“Arabs are harmless enough.” He gave her a questioning look.
“Not all who pass as Arabs are harmless,” she insisted. There was no time for explaining. The Arab, with the head-waiter at his elbow, had arrived at their table.
CHAPTER IX
A ROLL OF PAPYRUS
“I tried to tell him, sir, that it was not right that he should come in,” the polite waiter apologized to the Colonel, Mary’s father. “I said it is not convenient, it is not allowed, but he would come.”