She had been at the hospital every day since Nefret had challenged her that night at the opera, and according to Nefret she had performed a good deal better than anyone had expected.

“I haven’t made it easy for her,” Nefret admitted. “She hasn’t any nursing skills, of course, so she’s doing all the filthy jobs—emptying bedpans and changing sheets and picking maggots out of wounds. The first day she threw up three times and I didn’t expect to see her again, but she was there bright and early next morning. I’m beginning to admire the girl, Aunt Amelia. I’ve given her a few little hints about her appearance, and she has taken them more graciously than I expected.”

We had only a brief interlude between the conclusion of the meal and the arrival of our guests. One of the first to arrive was young Lieutenant Pinckney, who made a beeline for Nefret and drew her aside. Mrs. Fortescue attempted to do the same with Emerson, but I was able to forestall her, keeping Emerson with me as I greeted additional guests. Her cavaliers must have all deserted her, since she came alone. There was no doubt in my mind that her cheeks and lips owed their brilliant color to art rather than nature, but she looked very handsome in black lace, with a mantilla-like scarf draping her head.

Many of the men—too many, alas—were in khaki. Among these were Mr. Lawrence and Leonard Woolley. Remembering what David had told me about his “drunken” encounter with them, I watched with some trepidation as they entered into conversation with Ramses, but the few words I overheard indicated that they were talking amiably of archaeological matters. I observed with some amusement that Mr. Lawrence had unconsciously risen onto his toes as he spoke to Ramses; his diminutive size and ruffled fair hair made him look like a child addressing his mentor.

I had been looking forward to making the acquaintance of Major Hamilton, but when his niece arrived she was accompanied only by her formidable governess.

“The Major asked me to convey his profound apologies,” the latter explained. “A sudden emergency necessitated his departure for the Canal last evening.”

“I am so sorry,” I replied. “It is sad, is it not, that the celebrations of the birth of the Prince of Peace should be interrupted by preparations for war.”

Emerson gave me a look that expressed his opinion of this sentiment, which was, I admit, somewhat trite. Miss Nordstrom appeared quite struck by it, however.

Miss Molly did not even hear it. Attired in the white muslin considered suitable for young girls, with a huge white bow atop her head, she delayed only long enough to thank us for asking her before darting away.

They were among the last to come, and after I had introduced Miss Nordstrom to Katherine and Anna, I felt I deserved a respite. As any proper hostess must do, I glanced round the room to make certain no one was alone and neglected. Everyone appeared to be having a good time; Miss Molly had detached Ramses from Woolley and Lawrence, and Mrs. Fortescue was talking with Cyrus, who responded to her smiles and flirtatious glances with obvious enjoyment. He had always been “an admirer in the most respectful way of female loveliness,” but I knew his interest was purely aesthetic. He was absolutely devoted to his wife, and if he appeared to be in danger of forgetting it, Katherine would certainly remind him.

Turning to my husband, I found him staring into space with a singularly blank expression. I had to speak to him twice before he responded.

“I beg your pardon, Peabody ?”

“I invited you to join me in a cup of tea, my dear. What has put you in such a brown study?”

“Nothing of importance. Where is Nefret? I don’t see her or that young officer. Have they gone into the garden?”

“She does not require to be chaperoned, my dear. If the young man forgets himself, which I consider to be unlikely, she will put him in his place.”

“True,” Emerson agreed. “I will not take tea; I want to talk to Woolley about the Egyptian material he found at Carchemish .”

After a while someone—it was Mr. Pinckney—asked if we might not have a little informal dance, but his ingenuous face fell when Nefret went to the pianoforte.

“We do not have a gramophone,” I explained. “Emerson hates them and I confess I find those scratchy records a poor substitute for the real thing.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Pinckney. “I say, that’s a bit hard on Miss Forth, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have suggested it if I had realized she couldn’t dance.”

He was overheard by Miss Nordstrom, who must have had quite a lot of Cyrus’s champagne, for she beamed sentimentally at the young man and offered to take Nefret’s place. Mr. Pinckney seized her hand and squeezed it. “I say,” he exclaimed. “I say, that is good of you, Miss—er—mmm.”

So Mr. Pinckney got his dance. As is usual at my parties, there were more gentlemen than ladies present, so he had to share Nefret. Miss Nordstrom played with a panache I would not have expected from such a proper female, but her repertoire was more or less limited to the classics—polkas, mazurkas, and waltzes. Even Mr. Pinckney did not dare inquire whether she could play ragtime; but after a further glass of champagne, urged on her by Cyrus, she burst into a particularly rollicking polka, and Pinckney (who had also refreshed himself between dances) swung Nefret exuberantly round the room and ended by lifting her off her feet and spinning her in a circle.

Emerson glowered at the young fellow like a papa in a stage melodrama, but Nefret laughed and the others applauded. Miss Molly’s treble rose over the other voices. “Play it again, Nordie!” She ran to Ramses and held up her arms. “Spin me round like that, please! I know you can, you lifted me all the way down the pyramid. Please?”

Miss Nordstrom had already begun the encore. I heard Katherine say, “Now, Cyrus, don’t try that with me!”

You may well believe, Reader, that the anxiety of a mother had not been entirely assuaged. I started toward Ramses with some confused notion of interfering, but he caught my eye and shook his head.

They were, unfortunately, the center of attention. She was so tiny and he was so tall, they made a comical and rather touching picture; her head was tilted back and her round, freckled face shone with childish laughter as he guided her steps. It was his right arm that circled her waist and turned her, but a prickle of anxiety ran through me as I saw how hard she clung to his other hand. The dance neared its end; the corners of his mouth tightened as he caught her up and swung her round, not once but several times. After he had set her on her feet, she caught hold of his sleeve. “That was wonderful,” she gasped. “Do it again!”

“You must give the Professor a turn,” said Nefret, drawing the child away from Ramses. “He waltzes beautifully.”

“Yes, quite,” said Emerson. “A waltz, if you please, Miss—er—Nordstrom.”

I went to Ramses, who was leaning against the back of the sofa. “Come upstairs,” I said in a low voice.

“Just hold my arm up,” Ramses said, adding, with a breath of laughter, “There aren’t many women of whom I could ask that. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

He had put his other arm round my waist and since there was no reasonable alternative I supported his hand and followed his steps.

“Is it bleeding?”

“It’s all right, I tell you.”

“Did you have to do that?”

“I think so. Don’t you agree?”

“Curse it,” I muttered.

“It is not necessary for you to lead, Mother.”

I put an end to the dancing after that. Nefret took Miss Nordstrom’s place at the piano and we finished the evening, as we always did, with the dear familiar carols. Mr. Pinckney insisted on turning pages for Nefret, leaning so close his breath stirred the loosened hair that curled round her cheek. Mrs. Fortescue was the surprise of the evening. Her rich contralto voice had obviously been trained, and I observed she had unconsciously taken on the pose of a concert singer, hands folded lightly at her waist, shoulders back. But when I praised her singing and asked if she would give us a solo she shook her head in feigned modesty.