The Sheik

The mere money in itself was nothing; it was only a

means to an end. She had never even realised how much was expended on

the continuous and luxurious expeditions that she had made with Sir

Aubrey; her own individual tastes were simple, and apart from the

expensive equipment that was indispensable for their hunting trips, and

which was Aubrey's choosing, not hers, she was not extravagant. The

long list of figures that had been so boring during the tedious hours

that she had spent with the lawyer, grudging every second of the

glorious September morning that she had had to waste in the library

when she was longing to be out of doors, had conveyed nothing to her

beyond the fact that in future when she wanted anything she would be

put to the trouble of writing out an absurd piece of paper herself,

instead of leaving the matter in Aubrey's hands, as she had done

hitherto.

She had hardly understood and had been much embarrassed by the formal

and pedantic congratulations with which the lawyer had concluded his

business statement. She was not aware that she was an object of

congratulation. It all seemed very stupid and uninteresting. Of real

life she knew nothing and of the ordinary ties and attachments of

family life less than nothing. Aubrey's cold, loveless training had

debarred her from all affection; she had grown up oblivious of it. Love

did not exist for her; from even the thought of passion she shrank

instinctively with the same fastidiousness as she did from actual

physical uncleanliness.

That she had awakened an emotion that she did not understand herself in

certain men had been an annoyance that had become more intolerable with

repetition. She had hated them and herself impartially, and she had

scorned them fiercely. She had never been so gentle and so human with

any one as she had been with Jim Arbuthnot, and that only because she

was so radiantly happy that night that not even the distasteful

reminder that she was a woman whom a man coveted was able to disturb

her happiness. But here there was no need to dwell on annoyances or

distasteful reminders.

Diana dug her heels into the soft ground with a little wriggle of

content; here she would be free from anything that could mar her

perfect enjoyment of life as it appeared to her. Here there was nothing

to spoil her pleasure. Her head had drooped during her thoughts, and

for the last few minutes her eyes had been fixed on the dusty tips of

her riding-boots. But she raised them now and looked up with a great

content in them. It was the happiest day of her life. She had forgotten

the quarrel with Aubrey. She had put from her the chain of ideas

suggested by the passing caravan. There was nothing discordant to

disturb the perfect harmony of her mind.