The Sheik

"Are you ever afraid?" she had asked suddenly--"not of the ordinary

performance, but of that last act, when you dine all alone with them?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, blowing a little cloud of smoke into

the cub's face, and her eyes had met Diana's slowly over his little

yellow body. "One does not taste very much," she had said drily.

And it was so with Diana. She had eaten mechanically everything that

had been put before her, but she had tasted nothing. She had one

thought in her mind that excluded everything else--to hide from the

probing eyes that watched her ceaselessly the overmastering fear that

augmented every moment. One thing she had noticed during the meal. For

her only the servant poured out the light French wine that he had

brought. Her eyes wandered to the Sheik's empty glass, and meeting her

glance he smiled, with a little inclination.

"Excuse me. I do not drink wine. It is my only virtue," he added, with

a sudden gleam leaping into his eyes that drove the blood into her

cheeks and her own eyes on to her plate.

She had forgotten that he was an Arab.

The dinner seemed interminable, and yet she wished that it would never

end. While the servant was in the room she was safe; the thought of his

going sent a cold shudder through her. With the coffee came a huge

Persian hound, almost upsetting the Frenchman in the entrance in his

frantic endeavour to precede him through the doorway. He flung his long

grey body across the Sheik's knees with a whine of pleasure and then

turned his head to growl at Diana. But the growl died away quickly, and

he lumbered down and came to her side curiously, eyeing her for a

moment and then thrusting his big head against her.

The Sheik laughed. "You are honoured. Kopec makes few friends."

She did not answer. The natural reply was almost certain to provoke a

retort that she did not desire, so she remained silent, smoothing the

hound's rough coat. With her heart turning slowly to lead she lingered

over her coffee until there was no further possible pretext for

remaining at the table, then rose with a short, sharp sigh.

For some minutes the Sheik had sat silent, his own coffee long since

finished. He made no comment when she got up, and went himself to the

big divan, followed by the hound, who had gone back to him as soon as

he moved.

Diana turned to the little bookcase, snatching at the opportunity it

offered for further silence, and took a book at random. She did not

know what she was looking at, she did not care. She only prayed

fervently that she might be left alone, that the sudden silent fit that

had come over him might continue.