The Sheik

"It is because you are tired of me?" she muttered at last hoarsely,

"--as you told me you would tire, as you tired of--those other women?"

Her voice died away with an accent of horror in it.

Again he did not answer, but he winced, and his hands that were hanging

at his sides clenched slowly.

Diana flung one arm across her face to shut him out from her sight. Her

heart was breaking, and she longed with a feeling of sick misery to

crawl to his feet, but a remnant of pride kept her back.

He spoke at length in the same level, toneless voice. "I will take you

to the first desert station outside of Oran, where you can join the

train. For your own sake I must not be seen with you in Oran, as I am

known there. If you should by any chance be recognised or your identity

should leak out, you can say that for reasons of your own you extended

your trip, that your messages miscarried, anything that occurs to you.

But it is not at all likely to happen. There are many travellers

passing through Oran. Gaston can do all business and make all

arrangements for you. He will take you to Marseilles, and if you need

him he will go with you to Paris, Cherbourg, or London--whichever you

wish. As you know, you can trust him absolutely. When you do not need

him any longer, he will come back to me. I--I will not trouble you any

more. You need never be afraid that I will come into your life again.

You can forget these months in the desert and the uncivilised Arab who

crossed your path. To keep out of your way is the only amends I can

make."

She flung up her head. Quick, suspicious jealousy and love and pride

contending nearly choked her. "Why don't you speak the truth?" she

cried wildly. "Why don't you say what you really mean?--that you have

no further use for me, that it amused you to take me and torture me to

satisfy your whim, but the whim is passed. It does not amuse you any

longer. You are tired of me and so you get rid of me with all

precautions. Do you think the truth can hurt me? Nothing that you can

do can hurt me now. You made me the vile thing I am for your pleasure,

and now for your pleasure you throw me on one side.... How many times a

year does Gaston take your discarded mistresses back to France?" Her

voice broke into a terrible laugh.