The Sheik

The Englishman laughed.

"Been making love to her, I expect. A thing she does not understand and

won't tolerate. She's the coldest little fish in the world, without an

idea in her head beyond sport and travel. Clever, though, and plucky as

they are made. I don't think she knows the meaning of the word fear."

"There's a queer streak in the family, isn't there? I heard somebody

yapping about it the other night. Father was mad and blew his brains

out, so I was told."

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders.

"You can call it mad, if you like," he said slowly. "I live near the

Mayos' in England, and happen to know the story. Sir John Mayo was

passionately devoted to his wife; after twenty years of married life

they were still lovers. Then this girl was born, and the mother died.

Two hours afterwards her husband shot himself, leaving the baby in the

sole care of her brother, who was just nineteen, and as lazy and as

selfish then as he is now. The problem of bringing up a girl child was

too much trouble to be solved, so he settled the difficulty by treating

her as if she was a boy. The result is what you see."

They moved nearer to the open window, looking into the brilliantly lit

ballroom, already filled with gaily chattering people. On a slightly

raised platform at one end of the room the host and hostess were

receiving their guests. The brother and sister were singularly unlike.

Sir Aubrey Mayo was very tall and thin, the pallor of his face

accentuated by the blackness of his smoothly brushed hair and heavy

black moustache. His attitude was a mixture of well-bred courtesy and

languid boredom. He seemed too tired even to keep the single eye-glass

that he wore in position, for it dropped continually. By contrast the

girl at his side appeared vividly alive. She was only of medium height

and very slender, standing erect with the easy, vigorous carriage of an

athletic boy, her small head poised proudly. Her scornful mouth and

firm chin showed plainly an obstinate determination, and her deep blue

eyes were unusually clear and steady. The long, curling black lashes

that shaded her eyes and the dark eyebrows were a foil to the thick

crop of loose, red-gold curls that she wore short, clubbed about her

ears.

"The result is worth seeing," said the American admiringly, referring

to his companion's last remark.

A third and younger man joined them.

"Hallo, Arbuthnot. You're late. The divinity is ten deep in would-be

partners already."