that he was speeding to the lodestar of his one desire—to find wildness of delight in these commonplaces of travel; to live as he lived, to vibrate as he vibrated with every nerve from dawn to dawn, to be drunk with the sheer ecstasy of existence, so that the past becomes a black abyss, and the future an amethystine haze glorified by the Sons of the Morning singing for joy, is given but to few, is given to none but poor, starved souls, is given to none of the poor, starved souls but those whom the high Gods in obedience to their throw of the dice happen to select. Martin sitting in a deep armchair in the Semiramis Hotel dreamed of all these things, unconscious of the flight of time. Suddenly he became aware that he was the only occupant of the lounge, all the other folk having returned soberly to their rooms. Already a few early arrivals from the Savoy dance passed across the outer hall on their way to the lift. Drowsy with happiness he went to bed. To-morrow, Lucilla. * * * * * He became aware of her standing by the bureau licking a stamp to put on a letter. She wore a white coat and skirt and a straw hat with cherries on it. He could not see her face, but he guessed the blue veins on the uplifted, ungloved hand that held the stamp. On his approach, she turned and uttered a little laughing gasp of recognition, stuck the stamp on hastily and stretched out her hand. “Why,” she cried, “it’s you! You really have come!” “Did you think I would break my promise?” he asked, his eyes drinking in her beauty. “I didn’t know how seriously you regarded it.” “I’ve thought of nothing but Egypt, since I said you had pointed out the way,” he replied. “You commanded. I obeyed.” She caught up her long parasol and gloves that lay on the ledge of the bureau. “If everybody did everything I told them,” she laughed, “I should have my hands full. They don’t, as a general rule, but when they do I take it as a compliment. It makes me feel good to see you. When did you come?” She put him through a short catechism. What boat? What kind of voyage? Where was he staying? . . . Finally: “Do you know many people in Cairo?” “Not a soul,” said Martin. With both arms behind her back, she rested lightly on the parasol, and beamed graciously. “I know millions,” she said, not without a touch of exaggeration which pleased him. “Would you like to trust yourself to me, put yourself entirely in my hands?” “I could dream of nothing more enchanting,” replied Martin. “But——” “But——?” “I don’t want to make myself an infliction.”