The Sheik

"Sybarite!" she murmured sleepily. "You need a few discomforts."

She was almost aggressively cheerful next morning at breakfast and for

the time that they lingered at the oasis after the baggage camels had

started. Sir Aubrey was morose and silent, and she exchanged most of

her badinage with Stephens, who was superintending the packing of the

tiffin basket that would accompany her in charge of the man who had

been selected as her personal servant, and who was waiting, with

Mustafa Ali and about ten men, to ride with her.

The time for starting came. Stephens was fussing about the horse that

Diana was to ride.

"Everything all right, Stephens? Up to your standard? Don't look so

glum. I wish you were coming to look after me, but it couldn't be done.

Sir Aubrey would be lost without you."

The idea of a tour without Stephens in the background seemed suddenly

momentous, and the smile she gave him was more serious than she meant

it to be. She went back to her brother, who was pulling his moustache

savagely. "I don't think there's any use waiting any longer. You won't

want to hurry yourself too much, and you will want to be in Biskra in

time for dinner," she said as casually as she could.

He swung towards her. "Diana, it's still not too late to change your

mind. For Heaven's sake give up this folly. It's tempting Providence."

For the first time there was a genuine ring in his voice, and for a

moment Diana wavered, but only for a moment. Then she looked at him

with a slow smile.

"Do I fall on your neck and say, 'Take me back, dear Guardian; I will

be good,' or do I prostrate myself at your feet and knock my head on

your boots, and whine, in the language of the country, 'Hearing is

obeying'? Don't be ridiculous, Aubrey. You can't expect me to change my

mind at the eleventh hour. It's perfectly safe. Mustafa Ali will take

care that everything goes smoothly. He has his reputation in Biskra to

think of. You know the character the authorities gave him. He is not

likely to throw that away. In any case I can take care of myself,

thanks to your training. I don't mind owning to being conceited about

my shooting. Even you admit that I am a credit to your teaching."

With a gay little laugh she whipped out the ivory-mounted revolver, and

aiming at a low flat rock, some distance away, fired. She was an

unusually good revolver shot, but this time she seemed to have missed.

There was no mark on the stone. Diana stared at it stupidly, a frown of

perplexity creasing her forehead. Then she looked at her brother, and

back to the revolver in her hand.