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Page 38
She was his at dawn in the desert, although miles of sand stretched
between them; his in the rush of the wind, the glory of the sky and the
thunder of the horses' hoofs; but to whom did she turn at night; in the
maze of the dance; the hothouse atmosphere of the hotel; the crush of
the winter visitors?
So, giving a twist to the dagger of love in his heart, he tucked the
dogs of Billi in beside him and drove as the sun set to Heliopolis,
and, guessing that the duchess would have a table near the window,
chose one on the opposite side of the dining-room, so that his presence
should not be thrust upon the girl or the old woman who had known his
mother.
He sat there, indifferent to or oblivious of the interest his presence
aroused, unconsciously counting the vertebrae of the lady at the next
table, who had evidently forgotten some essential part of her bodice.
He counted the vertebrae in the back of the lady who was dying to turn
round, until the duchess and Damaris entered the room; then he clenched
his hands under the table with an involuntary shudder of disgust.
It was the first time he had seen the girl he loved in evening dress,
and every instinct of the Oriental in him was outraged at the sight of
the gleaming neck and shoulders and hint of lace-shrouded virgin form.
She was not in full _d�coll�tage_ by any means, but the waiter's sleeve
was but an inch from her satin skin when he bent over her, so that,
although he had long grown accustomed in Europe to the undraping of
woman o' nights, yet, because he loved the beautiful girl, he longed
for the right to walk across the room, pick her up in his arms, and,
smothering her in a _barku_, hide her forever from all male eyes but
his own.
Later, as he sat alone in a far corner of the ball-room, he twisted the
dagger of love this way and that in his tormented heart, whilst the
dogs of Billi worried the life out of the hall-porter as they fretted
and moaned for their master who tarried. He had never danced, himself,
loathing the idea of the propinquity of a stranger's body so close to
his own; of a stranger's mouth so near his own; of the animal odour of
the naked body, which no perfume can hide, within his nostrils; just as
he loathed the idea of a woman passing from one man's arms to another's
throughout the best part of a night.
He had no desire whatever to dance with Damaris, but all the Eastern in
him longed to make her dance for him; in the desert for preference;
under the light of the moon; with the insistent throbbing of the drum
keeping time to the rhythm of the slender feet upon the warm sand.
And he sat and dreamed under the palms, taking no heed of the sudden
cessation of music, the gathering of the dancers against the walls; the
half-suppressed, laughter and moistening of lip with furtive tongue and
the unusual feeling of expectancy in the heavy, perfumed air.
But he came back to earth when from some corner of the room there came
the faint tapping of a drum.
Three times there fell a single beat, then a gentle roll and a single
beat, bringing him to his feet as he recognised the measure, just as
the lights were switched off, excepting for one great beam which,
striking down from some device in the ceiling, made a silvery pool in
the middle of the floor.
"No!" he cried from the shadows, "this must not be. It is not seemly
for the eyes of women."
But the answer to this protest came in little jeering laughs and quick
remonstrance from those who feared that the whetting of their appetites
should be snatched from them, and a sigh of satisfaction went up when,
from the shadows, there sprang an Arabian youth, beautiful as a god,
supple as a snake, quick upon his feet as any fighting stallion.
He stood for a second with arms outflung to the men and women he knew
were watching his every movement outside the radius of the light, and
then he sprang back with that marvellous leap which is the gift of some
Arabian male dancers.
Ah me! you talk in pharisaic whispers of the Nautch girl; in righteous
anger against the dainty geisha; in horror of the weaving Salomes as
known in Western cities; wait, however, before you pour the last drop
from your vials of wrath and indignation until you have seen an Arab
dance "_al-fajr_" which, being translated, means the dawn. You can put
what interpretation you like upon it: the dawn of day, or love,
anything will do, but you most certainly ought not to watch it.
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