I caught Katherine’s eye before she could speak and shook my head. “We must go in,” I said. “Or Mahmud will burn the soup.”

Disappointed in her hope of starting a row, Anna continued to be as provoking as possible. Many of the barbs she slipped into the conversation were aimed at Nefret.

In fact, I knew what had set her off. I had, by pure accident, overheard part of a dialogue between the two girls after luncheon. The first complete sentence was Nefret’s.

“It’s the uniform, don’t you see that? You want to be in love with a soldier, any soldier. I don’t care how many of them you pursue, but stay away from him. He—”

“You’re only saying that because you’re jealous! I saw you come in from the garden with him. You lured him out there. You want him yourself!”

“Lured?” Nefret gave a strange little laugh. “Perhaps I did. You are mistaken about the rest of it, however. Listen to me, Anna—”

“No! Leave me alone.” She went running off.

It had not required much effort to guess whom they were discussing. I had meant to warn Anna about Percy myself, but if she would not heed Nefret, there was little chance she would listen to me, and I did not believe there was any danger of a serious attachment, at least not on Percy’s part. Like the generous-hearted man he was, Cyrus had made testamentary provisions for his stepchildren, but Anna was not by any definition a wealthy heiress.

It may have been Anna’s sullen mood that infected the rest of us. There was certainly something in the air that night; it would be superstitious to speak of premonitions and forebodings, so I will not. Heaven knows there were sufficient reasons for concern in the events of those times. It was Cyrus who first mentioned the war. I was only surprised we had managed to keep off it so long.

“Heard anything more about an attack on the Canal?”

His question was directed at Emerson, who shook his head and replied somewhat evasively, “One hears a great deal. Rumors, most of them.”

Nefret looked up. “People are leaving Cairo . They say the steamers are completely booked.”

“The same ‘they’ who spread such rumors,” Emerson grunted. “One never knows who ‘they’ are.”

“But there will be an attack,” Anna said suddenly. “Won’t there?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Nefret said. “The wounded would be sent to the military hospitals. Anyhow, most of the troops guarding the Canal are Indian—Punjabis and Gurkhas. Not romantic, in your terms.”

The venom in her voice was like a slap in the face, and Anna’s cheeks reddened as if from an actual blow.

“The Forty-second Lancashire is there,” Cyrus said obliviously. “And some Australian and New Zealand troops.”

“And the Egyptian artillery,” Ramses added. “They are well trained, and the Indian regulars are first-rate fighting men.”

He was trying to reassure Katherine—and me? From my conversations with Emerson, I knew the situation was not so comfortable as Ramses implied. The British Army of Occupation had been sent to France , and their replacements were raw and untrained. The safety of the Canal hung on the loyalty of the so-called “native” troops, most of whom were Moslem. Would they be swayed by the Sultan’s call for a jihad?

“They certainly are splendid-looking fellows,” Nefret said. “I’ve seen some of them in Cairo , on leave. On the street, that is. They are not allowed in the hotels or the clubs, are they? I don’t suppose any of the patriotic ladies of Cairo have gone to the trouble of providing them with a decent place to relax from their duties.”

“I don’t suppose so either,” I said. “There are not enough decent recreational facilities for any of the enlisted men. No wonder the poor lads resort to grog shops and cafйs and—er—other even less reputable places of—er—amusement! I will take steps to correct that. I beg your pardon, Ramses, did you speak?”

“No, Mother.” He looked down at his plate, but not so quickly that I failed to see the glint of amusement in his black eyes. What he had said, under his breath, was, “Tea and cucumber sandwiches.”

So it went, through three additional courses. Cyrus’s questioning of Emerson was a transparent request for reassurance; I did not doubt he had seriously considered sending Katherine home—or trying to. Anna and Nefret continued to snipe at one another, and Ramses contributed nothing useful to the converation. After dinner we retired to the parlor, where Katherine sank into a chair.

“If anyone else mentions the war, I will scream,” she declared. “Nefret, will you please play for us? Music is said to soothe a savage breast and mine is quite savage just now.”

Nefret looked a trifle sheepish. She had certainly done her bit to contribute to the unpleasantness. “Of course. What would you like to hear?

“Something cheerful and comic,” Cyrus suggested. “There are some pretty funny songs in that stack I brought with me.”

“Something soft and soothing and sweet,” Katherine corrected.

“Something we can all sing,” said Emerson hopefully.

Nefret, already seated at the piano, laughed and looked at Ramses. “Have you any requests?”

“So long as it isn’t one of those sentimental, saccharine ballads you favor. Or a stirring march.”

Her smile faded. “No marches. Not tonight.”

She played the old songs that were Emerson’s favorites. At her request Ramses stood by to turn the pages for her, and if he found the songs too sentimental for his taste, he did not say so. I managed to prevent Emerson from singing by asking Nefret to do so. Her voice was untrained but very sweet and true, and Emerson loved to hear it.

Katherine put her head back and closed her eyes.

“That was charming, my dear,” she said softly. “Go on, if you are not too tired.”

Nefret sorted through the sheet music. “Here’s one of Cyrus’s new songs. Ramses, sing it with me.”

He had been watching her, but he must have been thinking of something else, for he started when she addressed him. I knew he was as keenly aware of the time as I was. Within an hour he must leave to meet Thomas Russell.

With a smile and a shrug he held out his hand. “Let me see the music.”

“If you are going to be that particular—”

“I only want to look through it first.” He had learned to read music, though he did not play. Once I had wondered why he bothered. After a quick perusal, he curled his lip. “It’s worse than saccharine, it’s precisely the sort of romantic propaganda I was talking about the other day.”

“Please, Ramses,” Katherine murmured. “This is so pleasant, and I haven’t heard you and Nefret sing together for a long time.”

Ramses’s cynical smile faded. “All right, Mrs. Vandergelt. If it will please you.”

It was the first time I had heard the song, which was to become very popular. It did not mention the War; but the wistful reference to “the long, long night of waiting” before the lovers could again walk together into the land of their dreams made its message particularly poignant in those days. Music may be a tool of the warmongers, but it can also bring solace to aching hearts.

They went through it twice, and the second chorus was nearing its final notes when Ramses’s smooth voice cracked. “Damn it, Nefret! What did you do that for?”

She was shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kick you so hard. I just didn’t want you to spoil it by breaking into falsetto.”

“A scream of pain is preferable?” He rubbed his shin.

“I said I was sorry. Pax?”

She held out her hand. His lips quivered, and then he was laughing too, his hands enclosing hers.

The door opened. Fatima was there. She had neglected to veil her face, and in her hand she held a flimsy bit of folded paper.

“It is from Mr. Walter,” she said, holding out the paper as if it were burning her fingers.

How did she know? How did any of us know? Oh, there was a certain logic behind the instinctive expectation of bad news that brought us all to our feet. Telegrams and cables were used primarily for news of great joy or great sorrow, and after only a few months of war, English households had learned to dread the delivery of one of those flimsy bits of paper. But it was more than that, I think.