“Quite the contrary. He has written informing me he will not allow the child to associate with us.”

“Good gracious! Why would he do that?”

“Don’t be tactful, Katherine, not with me. I can only suppose that he has heard some of the vicious gossip about Ramses.”

Anna had been an interested listener. In her gruff boyish voice she remarked, “Are you referring to his pacifist sentiments or his reputation with women, Mrs. Emerson?”

“I see no reason why we should discuss either slander,” Katherine said sharply.

Anna’s sallow cheeks reddened. “He is a pacifist. It is not slanderous to call him that.”

This exchange caught Nefret’s attention. “I wouldn’t call Ramses a pacifist,” she said judiciously. “He is perfectly willing to fight if he believes it to be necessary. He’s damned good at it too.”

“Nefret,” I murmured.

“I beg your pardon,” said Nefret. “Just trying to set the record straight. Have you joined one of the bandage-rolling committees, Anna?”

Her disdainful tone made Anna stiffen angrily. “I want to do something more… more difficult, more useful.”

“Do you?” Nefret propped her chin on her hand and smiled sweetly at the other young woman. “Come round to the hospital tomorrow, then. We can use another pair of hands.”

“But I wouldn’t be nursing soldiers.”

“No. Only women who have been abused in another sort of war—the longest-lasting war in history. A war that won’t be won quickly or easily.”

“I’m sorry for them, of course,” Anna muttered. “But—”

“But you see yourself gently wiping the perspiration from the brows of handsome young officers who have suffered genteel wounds in the arm or shoulder. I think,” Nefret said, “it would do you good to meet some of the women who come to us, and hear their stories, and see their injuries. It will give you a taste of what war is really like. Are you game?”

Anna bit her lip, but no young woman of spirit could have resisted that challenge. “Yes,” she said defiantly. “I’ll show you I’m not as frivolous as you think me. I will come tomorrow and do any job you ask me to do, and I’ll stick it out until you dismiss me.”

“Agreed.”

I caught Katherine’s eye. I expected her to object, but she only smiled slightly and picked up her opera glasses. “Ah—there is Major Hamilton, Amelia. Third row center, reddish-gray hair, green velvet coat.”

“Dear me, how picturesque,” I said, identifying the individual in question without difficulty because of the unusual color of his hair. “Is he wearing a kilt, do you think?”

“Presumably. It goes with the coat.”

Since my readers are of course familiar with the opera, I will not describe the performance in detail. When the curtain fell, accompanied by the thunderous crash that sealed the doomed lovers forever in their living tomb, we all joined in the applause except for Emerson, who began fidgeting. If he had his way, he would bolt for the exit the moment the last note of music died. I consider this discourteous and unpatriotic, so I always make him sit through the curtain calls and “God Save the King.”

Cyrus suggested we stop somewhere for a bite of supper, but the hour was late and I knew Emerson would be up before dawn, so we said good night to the Vandergelts and got into our motorcar.

“You can let me off at the Semiramis, Selim,” said Nefret.

I said, “With whom are you having supper, Nefret?”

I expected a poke in the ribs from Emerson. Instead he cleared his throat noisily and muttered, “You need not answer that, Nefret. Er—unless you choose.”

“It is not a secret,” Nefret said. “Lord Edward Cecil and Mrs. Fitz, and some of their set. You know Mrs. Canley Tupper, I believe?”

I did. Like the others in that “set,” including Lord Edward, she was frivolous and silly, but not vicious.

“And,” said Nefret, “Major Ewan Hamilton may join us.”

I found it impossible to sleep that night, though Emerson slumbered sweetly and sonorously at my side. Nefret had not returned by the time we retired, nor had Ramses. Where were they and what were they doing—and with whom? I turned from one unsatisfactory position to another, but it was worry, not physical discomfort, that affected me. In some ways the children had been less trouble when they were young. At least I had had the right to control their actions and question them about their plans. Not that they always obeyed my orders or answered truthfully…

The intruder’s noiseless entrance gave me no warning. It was on the bed, advancing slowly and inexorably toward my head, before I was aware of its presence. A heavy weight settled onto my chest and something cold and wet touched my cheek.

“What is it?” I whispered. “How did you get in here?”

There was no audible response, only a harder pressure against my face. When I moved, the weight lifted from me and the shadowy form disappeared. I got out of bed without, as I believed, waking Emerson. Delaying only long enough to assume dressing gown and slippers, I went to the door. The cat was already there. As soon as I opened the door, she slipped out.

A lamp had been left burning on a table in the hall. I snatched it up. Seshat led me along the hall, looking back now and then to make sure I was following.

The only way she could have entered our room was through the window. One of her favorite promenades was along the balconies that ran under the first-floor windows. As I had expected, she stopped in front of Ramses’s door and stared up at me.

I knocked softly on the door. There was no response. I tried the door.

It was locked.

Well, I had expected that. Ramses had always been insistent on maintaining his privacy, and of course he had every right to it.

I had taken the precaution, some days earlier, of finding a key that fitted Ramses’s door. I had one for Nefret’s door too. I had not felt it necessary to mention this expedient to the persons concerned, because they would almost certainly have found other security measures which would not have been so easy to circumvent. Naturally I would never have dreamed of using the keys except in cases of dire emergency. Clearly this was such a case.

I unlocked the door and flung it open. This is my customary procedure when I anticipate discovering an unauthorized intruder, but I admit the bang of the door against the wall does often startle people other than the intruder. It produced a muffled oath from Emerson, of whose approach I had not been aware. Hastening to my side, he put his hand on my arm.

“ Peabody , what the devil are you—”

The sentence ended in a catch of breath.

There was enough light from the windows giving onto the balcony to show the motionless shape in the bed, covered to the chin by sheet and blanket, and the dark head on the pillow. Another form lay facedown on the floor between the bed and the window. It appeared to be that of a peasant, for the feet were bare and the dark blue gibbeh was threadbare and torn.

I gave Emerson the lamp and ran to kneel beside the fallen man.

“Ramses! What has happened? Are you hurt?”

There was no answer, which more or less settled the matter. As I tugged at my son’s limp body, Emerson put the lamp on a nearby table. “I’ll fetch a doctor.”

“No,” I said sharply. I had managed to turn Ramses onto his back. My peremptory grasp had pulled the robe apart, baring his chest and the bloodstained cloth wound clumsily round his upper arm and shoulder. It must have been cut or torn from his shirt, since that garment was in fragmentary condition. His only other article of clothing, aside from the belt that held his knife, was a pair of knee-length cotton drawers, completing the costume of an Egyptian of the poorer classes.

“No,” Ramses echoed. His eyes had opened and he was trying to sit up. I caught hold of him and pulled him down onto my lap. Ramses muttered something under his breath, and Seshat growled.