Baroudi's "den" had been swept and garnished. Flowers and small branches of mimosa decorated it, as if this day were festal. The writing-table, which had been loaded with papers, was now neat and almost bare. But all, or nearly all, Baroudi's books were still in their places. The marvellous prayer rugs strewed the floor. Ibrahim had set sticks of incense burning in silver holders. Upon the dining-room table, beyond the screen of mashrebeeyah work, still stood the tawdry Japanese vase. And the absurd cuckoo clock uttered its foolish sound to greet them.
"The eastern house!" said Nigel. "You little thought you would ever be mistress of it, did you, Ruby? How wonderful these prayer rugs are! But we must get rid of that vase."
"Why?" she said hastily, almost sharply.
He looked at her in surprise.
"You don't mean to say you like it? Besides, it doesn't belong to the room. It's a false note."
"Of course. But it appeals to my sense of humour--like that ridiculous cuckoo clock. Don't let's change anything. The incongruities are too delicious."
"You are a regular baby!" he said. "All right. Shall we make Baroudi's 'den' your boudoir?"
She nodded, smiling.
"And you shall use it whenever you like. And now for the bedrooms!"
"More incongruities," he said. "But never mind. They looked delightfully clean and cosy."
"Clean and cosy!" she repeated, with a sort of light irony in her beautiful voice. "Is that all?"
"Well, I mean--"
"I know. Come along."
They opened the doors and looked into each gay and luxurious little room. And as Mrs. Armine went from one to another, she was aware of the soft and warm sensation that steals over a woman returning to the atmosphere which thoroughly suits her, and from which she has long been exiled. Here she could be in her element, for here money had been lavishly spent to create something unique. She felt certain that no dahabeeyah on the Nile was so perfect as the Loulia. Every traveller upon the river would be obliged to envy her. For a moment she secretly revelled in that thought; then she remembered something; her face clouded, her lips tightened, and she strove to chase from her mind that desire to be envied by other women.
Nigel and she must avoid the crowds that gather on the Nile in the spring. They must tie up in the unfrequented places. Had she not reiterated to him her wish to "get away from people," to see only the native life on the river? Those "other women" must wait to be envious, and she, too, must wait. She stifled an impatient sigh, and opened another door. After one swift glance within, she said: "I will have this cabin, Nigel."