The only remaining difficulty was how to conceal from Ramses the fact that his father meant to follow him that night—for that was what Emerson must do if he wanted to avoid an argument or even a flat refusal from his son. Emerson may sneer at psychology all he likes, but it was not difficult for me to understand why Ramses was reluctant to accept his father’s help. According to the best authorities, all boys go through such a stage when they approach manhood, and trying to live up to a father like Emerson would put a strain on any individual.

It was difficult to concentrate with Emerson demanding I repeat back the numbers he kept calling out, so I gave it up for the time being. No doubt something will occur to me, I thought; it usually does.

We stopped work a little earlier than usual, since Katherine and Cyrus were dining with us. Something had occurred to me. I knew Emerson would not like it at all. I had certain reservations of my own, but I put these aside. Emerson’s objections would also have to be put aside, since I did not intend to give him time to argue.

The Vandergelts arrived in time for tea. After they had extricated themselves from the muffling garments motoring requires, we women retired to the roof, leaving Cyrus to admire our latest discoveries, while Emerson told him all about them and Ramses hung about trying to get a word in. Nefret would have liked to stay with them, I think, but Anna did not bother to conceal her disinterest, and my daughter had been too well brought up (by me) to abandon a guest.

Anna was more than happy to talk about her nursing duties. A single courteous question from me produced a spate of information, some of which I could have done without. It was her mother who cut her short.

“Don’t talk about wounds and—and infections,” Katherine exclaimed. “Especially at teatime.”

Anna’s lips set. Her physical appearance had improved greatly these past weeks; Nefret had been giving her gentle hints about clothes and hairstyles, but the greatest change was in her expression. Even a plain woman may look attractive when she is happy and proud of herself. Watching the old sullen look dim the girl’s face, I thought I just might drop a little hint to Katherine not to be so hard on Anna. Bertie had always been her favorite, and at the present time she was desperately worried about the boy.

I asked whether she had heard from him, and she nodded. “Not much of a letter, Amelia. It was full of holes, where the censor had cut out various phrases. It is so stupidly unfair! What could he possibly tell me that would give aid and comfort to anyone except me?”

“Some of the censors are overly conscientious, I believe,” I agreed. “Evelyn says the same of Johnny’s letters. Willy’s seem to come through relatively intact, but he has always been more discreet than his brother.”

“It is Johnny’s sense of humor that leads him into indiscretions,” Nefret said with a fond smile. “I can easily imagine him making rude personal remarks about one of his officers, or giving a vulgar description of the food they are served.”

“That would be destructive of civilian morale,” said Anna, whose sense of humor left a great deal to be desired.

The men finally joined us, followed by Seshat, who, I was pleased to observe, had decided not to contribute to the canapйs. She settled down next to Ramses. Cyrus was still talking about the royal statue, which he had the expertise and experience to appreciate fully.

“It just doesn’t seem fair,” he declared, shaking his head. “Not to take away from you folks, but I sure would like to find some little treasure myself.”

“Such as an unrobbed royal tomb or a cache of mummies decked out in jewels?” Nefret inquired. She and Cyrus were good friends, and he enjoyed her teasing him. His dour face broadened into a grin.

“Something like that. Doesn’t it seem to you folks that I’m overdue for a little luck? All those years in Luxor without a single find!”

“Excuse me, sir, but that is a slight exaggeration,” Ramses said. “The tomb you found at Dra Abu’l Naga was unique. The plan cast new light on our knowledge of Second Intermediate Period architecture.”

“But there wasn’t anything in it!” Cyrus protested. “Except a few pots and a broken-up mummy.”

“How are you doing at Abusir?” Emerson inquired, taking out his pipe.

“Well, now, there’s another thing. I thought sure there’d be private tombs next to that miserable excuse for a pyramid, but what we’ve come across seems to be a temple.”

“What?” Emerson shouted. “The mortuary temple of the unfinished pyramid of Abusir?”

“Goodness gracious, Emerson, you make it sound like the lost city of Atlantis !” I said. “There are a number of unfinished pyramids—too many, in my opinion. This one has not even a substructure.”

“And that is the only part of a pyramid that interests you,” said Emerson. “Dark, dusty, cramped underground passages! The existence of a mortuary temple suggests that there was a burial after all. What is more important is the temple plan itself. Only a few have been excavated, and—”

“Spare us the lecture, Emerson,” I said with a smile. “We all know you prefer temples to pyramids or even tombs.”

“I dropped you a hint Christmas Day,” Cyrus said. “Been expecting you would drop by to have a look.”

“Hmph.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “I have been busy, Vandergelt.”

“I reckon you have. What with one thing and another.” Cyrus’s keen blue eyes moved from Emerson to me. After a moment he went on, with seeming irrelevance, “I called on MacMahon the other day. I’m supposed to be neutral in this war; I’ve got friends and sons of friends in both armies. But I figure a fellow has to take a stand, and I’ve made up my mind what side I’m on. Told him I was offering my services, such as they are.”

He was offering his services to us as well. He did not have to say so; coming from Cyrus, who knew us so well, the hint was enough. If it had been up to me I would have confided fully in these loyal friends, on whose assistance and advice I had so often depended. I had not the right. I too was under orders.

We had an early dinner and then separated in order to assume our costumes. The Vandergelts had brought several pieces of luggage, since I had invited them to spend that night and the next with us. Emerson was gracious enough to approve the ensemble I had selected for him—that of a Crusader. I was his lady, in flowing robes and a pointed headdress. Emerson liked his sword and beard very much, but he objected to my pointed hat, on the grounds that it wobbled a bit and would probably poke someone’s eye out. Brushing this complaint aside, I took his arm and we proceeded into the drawing room, where we found Katherine and Cyrus waiting, dressed as a lady and gentleman of Louis the Fourteenth’s court, complete with powdered wigs.

Before long Ramses joined us. I was relieved to see that he had not assumed one of his more disgusting disguises—a verminous beggar or odorous camel driver. He had better sense than that, of course; it would have been folly to advertise his ability to assume such roles. He hadn’t gone to much trouble; a broad-brimmed “ten-gallon hat” borrowed from Cyrus, a neckerchief tied round his bared throat, and a pair of six-shooters strapped round his waist made him into a dashing and fairly unconvincing model of an American cowboy. I doubted very much that American cowboys wore white shirts and riding breeches.

“For pity’s sake, Ramses,” I exclaimed, as he swept off his hat and bowed. “Are you carrying those weapons into Shepheards?”

“They are not loaded, Mother.”

“What happened to the spurs?” Cyrus inquired, his eyes twinkling.

“I feared they might constitute a hazard on the dance floor.”