"Ruby," said Nigel, a fortnight later, coming into his wife's bedroom after the morning walk on the river bank which invariably succeeded his plunge into the Nile, "whom do you think I've just met in Luxor?"
He was holding a packet of letters and papers in his hand. The post had just arrived.
Mrs. Armine, wrapped in a long white gown which did not define her figure, with her shining hair coiled loosely at the back of her neck, was sitting before the toilet-table, and looked round over her shoulder.
"Some one we both know, Nigel?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Not the magenta and red together, then?"
"The Haymans--no, though I believe they are here at the Winter Palace."
"God bless them!" she murmured, with a slight contraction of her forehead. "Is it a man or a woman?"
"A man."
"A man!" She turned right round, with a sharp movement, holding the arms of her chair tightly. "Not Meyer Isaacson?"
"Isaacson! Good heavens! He never takes a holiday except in August. Dear old chap! No, this is some one not specially interesting, but not bad; only Baroudi."
Mrs. Armine's hands dropped from the arms of the chair, as she turned towards the glass.
"Baroudi!" she said, as if the name meant nothing to her. "Why do you string one up for nothing, Nigel?"
She took up a powder-puff.
"Do you mean the man on the Hohenzollern? What has he to do with us?"
Nigel crossed the room, and sat down on a chair by the side of the toilet-table, facing his wife and holding in his lap the bundle of letters and papers.
"Are you disappointed, Ruby?"
"No, because we don't need any one. But you roused my expectation, and then played a cold douche upon it, you tiresome person!"
There was a sort of muffled crossness in her voice, but as she passed the powder-puff over her face her eyes and her lips were smiling. Nigel leaned his arm upon the table.
"Ruby," he said.
"Well--what is it?"
She stopped powdering.
"I wish you wouldn't do--all that."
"All what?"
"All those things to your face. You are beautiful. I wish you would leave your face alone."
"I do, practically. I only try to save it a little from the sun. You wouldn't have me look like the wife of one of what Ibrahim calls 'the fellaheen peoples,' would you?"
"I want you to look as natural and simple as you always are with me. I don't mean that you are simple in mind, of course. I am speaking of your manner."
"My dear Nigel, who is affected nowadays? But I really mustn't look like the fellaheen peoples. Ibrahim would be shocked."