He became aware of her standing by the bureau licking a stamp to put on a letter. She wore a white coat and skirt and a straw hat with cherries on it. He could not see her face, but he guessed the blue veins on the uplifted, ungloved hand that held the stamp. On his approach, she turned and uttered a little laughing gasp of recognition, stuck the stamp on hastily and stretched out her hand.
“Why,” she cried, “it’s you! You really have come!”
“Did you think I would break my promise?” he asked, his eyes drinking in her beauty.
“I didn’t know how seriously you regarded it.”
“I’ve thought of nothing but Egypt, since I said you had pointed out the way,” he replied. “You commanded. I obeyed.”
She caught up her long parasol and gloves that lay on the ledge of the bureau. “If everybody did everything I told them,” she laughed, “I should have my hands full. They don’t, as a general rule, but when they do I take it as a compliment. It makes me feel good to see you. When did you come?”
She put him through a short catechism. What boat? What kind of voyage? Where was he staying? . . . Finally:
“Do you know many people in Cairo?”
“Not a soul,” said Martin.
With both arms behind her back, she rested lightly on the parasol, and beamed graciously.