She must take off the boyish clothes that somehow seemed to lend her
courage and substitute, to gratify the whim of the savage in the next
room, the womanly dress that revealed more intimately the slender lines
of her figure and intensified the uncommon beauty of her face.
She went to the dressing table with lagging feet and stared resentfully
at the white face and haggard eyes that looked back at her from the
mirror. It was like the face of a stranger. Aubrey's words came back to
her with an irony that was horrible. To-night she did not dress to
please herself. Her face was set, her eyes almost black with rage, but
behind the rage there was lurking apprehension. She started at every
sound that came from the adjoining room. Her fingers, wet with
perspiration, seemed almost unable to fulfil their task. She hated him,
she hated herself, she hated her beauty that had brought this horror
upon her.
She would have rebelled if she had dared, but instinctively
she hurried--fear had already driven her so far. But when she was ready
she did not move from the table beside which she stood. Fear had forced
her to haste, but her still struggling pride would not permit her to
obey her fear any further. She raised her eyes to the glass again,
glowering angrily at the pale reflection, and the old obstinacy mingled
with the new pain that filled them. Must she endure his mocking glance
with chalk-like cheeks and eyes like a beaten hound? Had she not even
courage enough left to hide the fear that filled her with
self-contempt? The wave of anger that went through her rushed the
colour into her face and she leaned nearer the glass with a little
murmur of satisfaction that stopped abruptly as her fingers gripped the
edge of the table, and she continued staring into the mirror not at her
own face, but at the white robes that appeared behind her head,
blotting out the limited view she had had of the room.
The Sheik was standing behind her. He had come with the peculiar
noiseless tread that she had noticed before. He swung her round to look
at her and she writhed under his eyes of admiration, straining from him
as far as his grip allowed. Holding her with one hand he took her chin
in the other and tilted her face up to his with a little smile. "Don't
look so frightened. I don't want anything more deadly than some soap
and water. Surely even an Arab may be allowed to wash his hands?"