He dropped from the last step to the ground and swung her down. When he would have set her on her feet she fell back against him and clung to his arm.

“My ankle! Oh, it hurts!”

Since she seemed about to collapse, Ramses picked her up and turned to receive the applause of the audience. The English and Americans cheered, the Egyptians yelled, and his father pushed through the spectators.

Emerson’s expression was one of affable approval; it broadened into a smile as he looked at the girl. “All right, are you, my dear?” he inquired. “Well done, Ramses. Present me to the young lady, if you please.”

“I fear I neglected to ask her name,” Ramses said. Now that she was safely down he was beginning to be annoyed with the “young lady.” There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her foot; she was trying to look pathetic in the hope of staving off the expected and well-deserved scolding. To give the governess credit, she appeared to be more relieved than angry.

“It was my fault, sir,” said the girl. “I was so frightened and he was so kind… My name is Melinda Hamilton.”

“A pleasure,” said Emerson, bowing. “My name—”

“Oh, I know who you are, sir. Everyone knows Professor Emerson. And his son.”

“Most kind,” said Emerson. “Are you going to put her down, Ramses?”

“I’m afraid I hurt my foot, sir,” said the young person winsomely.

“Hurt your foot, eh? You had better come to our house and let Mrs. Emerson have a look. I’ll take her, Ramses. You can bring Miss—er—um—with you on Risha.”

Damned if I will, Ramses thought, as his erstwhile charge slipped gracefully from his arms into those of his father. His splendid Arabian stallion would make nothing of the extra weight, but Miss Nordstrom would probably accuse him of trying to ravish her if he hauled her up onto the saddle and rode off with her into the sunset or any other direction.

Emerson strode away, carrying the girl as easily as if she had been a doll and talking cheerfully about tea and cakes and the Sitt Hakim, his wife, who had a sovereign remedy for sprained ankles, and their house, and their pets. Did she like cats? Ah, then she must meet Seshat.

Ramses stood watching them, nagged by the obscure and irrational sense of guilt that always filled him when he saw his father with a child. Neither of his parents had ever reproached him for failing to present them with grandchildren; he had believed they didn’t much care until Sennia had entered their lives. He still wasn’t certain how his mother felt, but his father’s attachment to the little girl was deep and moving. Ramses missed her too, but for a number of reasons he was glad Sennia was safe in England .

He located the carriage Miss Nordstrom had hired and told the driver to bring the lady to their house. Then he mounted Risha and headed for home, wondering what his mother would make of his father’s latest pet.

:

I have become quite accustomed to having the members of my family bring strays of all species home with them. Nefret is the worst offender, for she is constantly adopting wounded or orphaned animals, but they are less trouble than wounded or orphaned humans. When Emerson strode into the sitting room carrying a small human of the female gender, a familiar sense of foreboding filled me. Men have a number of annoying qualities, but over the years women—especially young women—have given me considerable trouble. Most of them fall in love with my husband or my son, or both.

Emerson deposited the young person in a chair. “This is Miss Melinda Hamilton, Peabody . She hurt her foot climbing the Great Pyramid, so I brought her to you.”

Miss Hamilton did not appear to be in pain. She returned my clinical stare with a broad smile. A gap between her two front teeth and a sprinkling of freckles gave her a look of childish innocence, but I judged her to be in her early teens. She had not yet put up her hair or lengthened her frock. The former was windblown and tangled, the latter dusty and torn. She was not wearing a hat.

“You are not an orphan, are you?” I asked.

“ Peabody !” Emerson exclaimed.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” said the young person coolly.

“I beg your pardon,” I said, recovering myself. “I was endeavoring, rather clumsily, I confess, to ascertain whether some anxious person is looking all over Giza for you. Surely you did not go there alone.”

“No, ma’am, of course not. My governess was with me. The Professor just picked me up and brought me here. He is so kind.” She gave Emerson an admiring look.

“Yes,” I said. “He is also thoughtless. Emerson, what have you done with the governess?”

“Ramses is bringing her. Is tea ready? I am sure our guest is tired and thirsty.”

He was reminding me of my manners—something he seldom gets a chance to do—so I rang for Fatima and asked her to bring tea. I then knelt before the girl and removed her shoe and stocking. She protested, but of course I paid no attention.

“There is no swelling,” I announced, inspecting a small, dusty bare ankle. “Oh—I am sorry, Miss Melinda! Did I hurt you?”

Her involuntary movement had not been caused by pain. She had turned toward the door. “My friends call me Molly,” she said.

“Ah, there you are, Ramses,” said his father. “What have you done with the governess?”

“And what have you done with your pith helmet?” I inquired. Like his father, Ramses is always losing his hats. He passed his hand over his tumbled hair, trying to smooth it back. He ignored my question, probably because he did not know the answer, and replied to his father.

“She will be here shortly. I passed the carriage a few minutes ago.”

“Hurry and clean up,” I ordered. “You look even more unkempt than usual. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Rescuing me,” said Miss Molly. “Please don’t scold him. He was splendid!”

Ramses vanished, in that noiseless fashion of his, and I said, “I thought it was the Professor who rescued you.”

“No, no,” said Emerson. “It was Ramses who brought her down from the pyramid. She’d hurt her foot, you see, and—”

“And lost my head.” The girl smiled sheepishly. “I was afraid to go up or down. I made a perfect fool of myself. Mrs. Emerson, you have been so kind—may I ask another favor? Would it be possible for me to bathe my face and hands and tidy myself a bit?”

It was a reasonable request, and one I ought to have anticipated. Before I could respond, however, there was another interruption, in the form of a large female clad in black, who rushed at the girl and showered her with mingled reproaches and queries. No question of her identity, I thought. I hushed the woman and directed them to one of the guest chambers. Emerson’s offer to carry Miss Molly was rejected in no uncertain terms by Miss Nordstrom, who glowered at him as if she suspected him of evil designs on her charge. She led the girl away, supporting her.

When they returned, the rest of us were gathered round the tea table, including Nefret, who had spent the afternoon at the hospital.

“Here they are,” I said. “I have just been telling Miss Forth about your adventure. Nefret, may I present Miss Nordstrom and Miss Melinda Hamilton.”

Waving aside Emerson’s offer of assistance, the governess lowered her charge into a chair. The child’s appearance was greatly improved. Her hair had been tied back from her forehead with a white ribbon, and her face shone pink from scrubbing. Her shoe and stocking had been replaced. Of course, I thought, a woman like Miss Nordstrom would consider it improper to bare any portion of the lower anatomy in the presence of a man.

“Is that wise?” I inquired, indicating the shod foot. “A tight boot will be painful if her foot swells. Perhaps you would like Miss Forth to have a look at it. She is a physician.”

“Not necessary,” said Miss Nordstrom, looking at Nefret with shocked surprise.