“And I ought to have gone after her and shaken some sense into her. I realize now that that was what she wanted me to do—that perhaps she had the right to expect it of me, especially after—”

He checked himself. I said helpfully, “After having been such good friends for so long. That is what your father always did.”

“To you? But surely you never gave Father cause to—”

“Shake some sense into me?” My laughter was brief and rueful. “I am ashamed to admit that I did, more than once. There was one occasion—one woman in particular… I need not say that my suspicions were completely unfounded, but if love has an adverse effect on common sense, jealousy destroys it completely. Of course the cases are not entirely parallel.”

“No.” I could tell that he was trying to picture Emerson shaking me as I shouted accusations of infidelity at him. He was obviously having some difficulty doing so. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not like Father. I have never found it easy to express my feelings. When I’m angry or—or offended—I pull back into my shell. That’s my weakness, Mother, just as impulsiveness is Nefret’s. I know it’s stupid, infuriating, and selfish; one ought at least give the other fellow the satisfaction of losing one’s temper.”

“I’ve seen you lose it a few times.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Ramses said with a wry smile. “Last year I thought that she was beginning to care a little, but then this other business came up and I didn’t dare confide in her. I hoped that one day, when this is over, I could explain and start again; but what I did tonight was the worst mistake I could have made. One doesn’t force oneself on a woman like Nefret.”

“In my opinion it was a distinctly positive step,” I said. “Faint heart never won fair lady, my dear, and, without wishing in any way to condone the employment of physical force, there are times when a woman may secretly wish… Hmmm. Let me think how to put this. She may hope that the strength of a gentleman’s affection for her will cause him to forget his manners.”

Ramses opened his mouth and closed it again. I was pleased to see that my sympathetic conversation had comforted him; he sounded quite his normal self when he finally found his voice. “Mother, you never cease to amaze me. Are you seriously suggesting I should—”

“Why, Ramses, you know I would never venture to urge a course of action on another individual, particularly in affairs of the heart.” Ramses had lit another cigarette. He must have inhaled the wrong way, for he began to cough. I patted him on the back. “However, a demonstration of an attachment so powerful it cannot be controlled, particularly by a gentleman who has controlled it only too well, would, I believe, affect most women favorably. I trust you follow me?”

“I think I do,” Ramses said in a choked voice.

Rising, he offered me his hand. “Will you come back to the ball now? They will be serving supper soon, and—”

“I know. You can depend on me. But I believe I will sit here a few minutes longer. Do you go on, my dear.”

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, “I love you, Mother.” He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.

I was too moved to speak. But maternal affection was not the only emotion that prevented utterance; as I watched him walk away, his head high and his step firm, anger boiled within me. I knew I had to conquer it before I saw Nefret again, or I would take her by the shoulders and shake her, and demand that she love my son!

That would have been unfair as well as very undignified. I knew it; but I had to force my jaws apart to keep from grinding my teeth with outrage and fury. She ought to love him. He was the only man who was truly her equal, in intelligence and integrity, in loving affection and… Still waters run deep, it is said. I, his affectionate mother, ought to have realized that beneath that controlled mask his nature was as deep and passionate as hers.

The heat of anger faded, to be replaced with an icy chill of foreboding. Ramses’s feet were set on a path fraught with peril, and a man who fears he has lost the thing he wants most in life takes reckless chances. The young are especially susceptible to this form of romantic pessimism.

Rising, I shook out my skirts and squared my own shoulders. Another challenge! I was up to it! I would see those two wed if I had to lock Nefret up on bread and water until she agreed. But first there was the little matter of making certain Ramses lived long enough to marry her.

The last dance before supper was beginning when I entered the ballroom, to find Emerson lying in wait for me.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “It is almost time. Has something happened? You are grinding your teeth.”

“Am I?” I was. Hastily I got my countenance under control. “Never mind. The crucial hour is upon us! Tell them to bring the motorcar round and I will inform Katherine we are leaving.”

I was fortunate enough to find her sitting with the chaperones. I did not give a curse whether those tedious gossips overheard me, but I did not want to have to explain myself to Nefret or face that knowing blue gaze of Cyrus. Katherine responded as I had hoped and expected, even anticipating my request that she look after Nefret and bring her home with them. She did not ask about Ramses.

Oh, yes, I thought, as I hurried to the cloakroom, she and Cyrus suspect something is afoot. After all, this would not be the first time we had been involved in a deadly and secret game. It happened almost every year.

Emerson had already retrieved my evening cloak. He tossed it over my shoulders, grunted, “Take off that damned pointed hat,” and led me out the door. The motorcar was waiting, and so was Ramses, hat in hand. He got into the tonneau. I took my place beside Emerson, and watched him closely as he went through the procedures necessary to start the vehicle moving. There was a grinding noise—there always was when Emerson started it—and off we went.

We were several miles south of the city, on the road to Helwan, when Ramses tapped his father on the shoulder. “Stop here.”

Emerson complied. Even in the dark, and it was very dark, he knows every foot of the terrain of Egypt . “The quarries at Tura?” he asked.

“Nearby.” The door opened and Ramses got out. He was not nearly as odorous as he had been before, but the galabeeyah covered his costume and the turban his hair. “Good night,” he said, and disappeared noiselessly into the darkness.

Emerson got out of the vehicle, leaving the engine running. “Now then, Peabody ,” he said, as he began removing the jangly bits of his armor, “would you care to explain that brilliant scheme you mentioned? Did you arrange for Selim to meet you and drive you home, or do you intend to await me here, or—”

“Not at all.” I slid over into the seat he had vacated and took firm hold of the steering wheel. “Show me how to drive this thing.”

I was teasing my dear Emerson. I knew how to operate the confounded machine; at my request, Nefret had taken me out once or twice and shown me how to do it. For some reason she had not been able to continue the lessons, but after all, once the fundamentals were explained, the rest was only a matter of practice. I had a little argument with Emerson; it would have been longer if I had not pointed out he must not delay.

“He is already some distance ahead of you, my dear. It is vitally important that you watch over him tonight.” I handed him the nice clean striped robe I had brought in my evening bag.

“Why tonight? Curse it, Peabody —”

“Just take my word for it, Emerson. Hurry!”

Torn between his concern for his son and his concern for me (and the motorcar), Emerson made the choice I had hoped he would make. Swearing inventively but softly, he ran off along the path Ramses had taken. Pride swelled my bosom. No husband could have offered a greater testimonial of confidence.