“Yes, my dear,” I said, laughing. “We needn’t attend if you don’t want to, the affair is several weeks off. You had better run along now; I will just finish these notes before I join you.”

Believing the discussion was at an end, I turned back to the desk and picked up my pen.

“I would like to see you as Nefertiti, though.” Emerson came to stand behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

“Now, Emerson, you know I do not resemble that elegant lady in the slightest. I am too—my dear, what are you doing?”

In fact, I knew very well what he was doing. Raising me to my feet, he drew me into a close embrace. “I would rather have you than Nefertiti, Cleopatra, or Helen of Troy,” he murmured against my cheek.

“Now?” I exclaimed.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, it is eight o’clock in the morning, and for another, they are waiting for you at Giza , and… and…”

“Let them wait,” said Emerson.

It was like the old days, when Emerson’s tempestuous affection was wont to display itself in places and under circumstances some might consider inappropriate. I had never been able to deny him then; I was unable to deny him now. When he left me I was in a much improved state of mind. Humming under my breath, I returned to my study to finish my letters.

Not until the euphoria of the encounter had begun to subside did I begin to harbor certain suspicions. Emerson’s demonstrations of affection are often spontaneous and always overwhelming. He knows very well how they affect me, and he is not above employing them for purposes of distraction.

Putting down my pen, I reconsidered our conversation. Had there not been something unusual about his willingness to incur delay? As a rule he was impatient to get to the site, nagging the rest of us to hurry. We had talked about costumes and disguises, and now that I thought about it he had had a somewhat shifty look when I mentioned beards… Curse the man, I thought, he is up to something! His disclaimers notwithstanding, I knew he yearned to play some part in the war effort. He sympathized with Ramses’s pacifist sentiments, but did not entirely share them, and I suspected that what he really wanted was a chance to prowl the streets of Cairo in disguise, looking for spies and exposing foreign agents. I had no strong objections, so long as he did not try to prevent me from doing it too.

At Emerson’s request I had written to Major Hamilton inviting him and his niece to tea. The following afternoon I was in receipt of a brief communication from him. Nefret was reading her own messages; the one she was presently perusing appeared to contain something of particular interest.

We were on the roof terrace waiting for the others to return from the dig. For the past several days I had been the one to sort through the messages and letters that had arrived in our absence. Naturally I would never have opened a letter addressed to Nefret; I only wanted to know whether Percy would have the audacity to correspond with her. Thus far she had received no communication that aroused suspicion, but today she had got to the post basket on the hall table before me.

“Not bad news, I hope?” I inquired, seeing a frown wrinkle the smooth surface of her brow.

“What?” She looked up with a start. “Oh. No, nothing of the sort. Only an invitation I shan’t accept. Is there anything of interest in your letters?”

“I have heard from Major Hamilton—you know, the uncle of the young lady who was here the other day. It is a rather curious communication. What do you think?”

I handed her the letter, thinking it might inspire her to return the compliment. It did not. She folded her own letter and slipped it into her skirt pocket before taking the paper from my hand. As she read it her lips pursed in a silent whistle.

“Curious? Rude, rather. The terms in which he declines your invitation make it clear he doesn’t care to make our acquaintance, and has no intention of allowing his niece to visit us. He doesn’t say why.”

“I think I can hazard a guess.”

Nefret looked at me in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew.”

“Knew what?”

She looked as if she were sorry she had spoken, but my unblinking gaze silently demanded a response. “About Ramses having cut the Major out with Mrs. Fortescue.”

“What a vulgar way of putting it. Do you mean that Ramses and that woman are—er—associating? She is old enough to be his mother. What about her other admirer—that French count?”

Nefret’s delicate lips curled. “I detest this sort of gossip, but I do wish you would speak to Ramses. The Major probably won’t do anything except snub him, but the Count has threatened to call him out.”

“Challenge him, you mean? How absurd.”

“Not to the Count. He is quite a gallant, in the European style. Kisses hands, clicks heels.”

“You know him?”

“Slightly. Oh, well, I daresay nothing will come of it. There is another reason why the Major might not care to improve his acquaintance with us. What responsible guardian would allow a young girl to associate with a man who is not only a pacifist and a coward, but a notorious seducer of women?”

“Nefret!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia! But that’s what they say about him, you know. They know the stories are all lies, and yet they continue to repeat them, and there’s not a damned thing we can do about it!”

“They will be forgotten eventually,” I said, wishing I could believe it.

The angry color faded from her cheeks, and she smiled and shook her head. “He does bring it on himself, in a way. One can hardly blame the child for being swept off her feet.”

“Literally as well as figuratively, I believe,” I said. “My dear Nefret, he didn’t bring this on himself; once appealed to, he had to rescue the child.”

“It’s not what he does, it’s the way he does it!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I know what you mean. Well, my dear, he won’t do it again—at least not to Miss Hamilton. The Major’s letter, though discourteous, relieves me of a responsibility I am happy to avoid. Emerson will be disappointed, though.”

When Emerson turned up he was accompanied by Cyrus and Katherine Vandergelt, who were to dine and attend the opera with us that evening. I deduced that they had come in their car, since both wore appropriate motoring costumes. Cyrus was something of a dandy; his dust coat was of fine white linen and his cap had attached goggles, now pushed up out of the way. Katherine began the task of unwinding the veils in which she was swathed, and after greeting me affectionately, Cyrus explained, “We stopped at Giza to collect Emerson.”

“And a good thing, too, or he would still be there,” I said. “Where is Anna? You didn’t leave her at home alone, I hope. She has, I believe, a tendency to brood. That is unhealthy. Perhaps she should spend more time with us. We will keep her busy and cheerful.”

“You are an incurable busybody, Amelia,” said my husband, settling himself comfortably in a chair and picking up the little pile of messages. “What makes you suppose Katherine needs your advice on how to manage her daughter?”

“Amelia’s advice is always welcome,” Katherine said with an affectionate smile. She looked as if she could use a little cheering up too. Her plump cheeks were thinner and there was more gray in her hair now than there had been only a year earlier.

“We left Anna with Ramses,” she went on. “He hadn’t quite finished, and she decided to stay and keep him company.”

“We will not wait tea for them, then,” I declared. “Emerson, will you call down to Fatima and tell her we are ready?”

There was no response from Emerson, who had tossed most of the letters onto the floor, in his impetuous fashion, and was staring fixedly at one of them. I had to repeat his name rather loudly before he looked up.

“What are you shouting at me for?” he asked.