All the guests were quite well known to their young hostess with the exception of Mdlle. Feronnier and Tony and Lucinda Belmont. As Morris had said, there was little, so far as the average observer could discern, either to like or to dislike in the quiet, flaxen-haired, little French girl. Lucinda Belmont, on the contrary, possessed a distinct and striking personality. Erect in carriage, and bearing herself with an air of unassailable self-confidence—with a full bust, and a waist so disproportionately tiny that Evarne surveyed it with mingled scorn and wonder—she was unmistakably what is popularly meant by "a fine woman." Her big eyes, fringed by long, black lashes, were the tiniest bit protruding, whereby they were enabled to roll up and down and round about in wondrous glances, languishing or flashing, according to the requirements of the occasion. Her features were ordinary, yet her vivacity, her animation, together with her carefully chosen costumes, her elaborate coiffure, and the brilliance given by a most discreet and effective use of paint and powder, transformed her into a woman who excited appreciative attention from most men.

Despite her now considerable store of worldly wisdom, Evarne had not got rid of a somewhat unwise confidence in humanity. Tennyson tells how Vivian was able to see evil of one sort or another in the most noble of characters through the simple method of "imputing her own vileness" to the thoughts, the deeds, the motives of others. In the same manner did Evarne instinctively credit everyone with her own loyalty and honour. Assuredly Justine Feronnier and Lucinda were both unusually striking representatives of the female sex as far as appearance went. But the French girl was understood to belong to Tom Talling, and Lucinda—politely described as Mrs. Belmont—had the legitimate owner of that surname in attendance upon her, so Evarne experienced no unpleasant anxiety in beholding the attractive flaxen demureness of the one, or the flashing brunette brilliance of the other.

The long days devoted to the uneventful journey of "The Radiant Isis" through the flat reaches of the lower Nile were relieved from monotony by the spirit of mirth that possessed all aboard. Morris had indeed chosen his companions with discrimination, if frivolity and constant laughter were what he sought.

Of course each individual was provided with that hallmark of the traveller in the East, a hand-camera, and the results of the snap-shots of these amateur photographers caused many a shriek of laughter. Morris, Guiseppe and Signor Varesio had all brought their foils. But neither Italian had much chance against Morris, who was quite a champion in this art, to which he owed much of that slim, youthful-looking figure that was his pride. Then there were games, dances, visits from Arab entertainers, fantasias by the crew—all serving to make time pass delightfully.

Yet, slowly but surely, unhappiness crept in. The whole trouble had root in the resolute transference of Tony Belmont's ardent attentions from Lucinda to the altogether unappreciative Evarne. She found him always by her side, even when it must have been obvious to the meanest intelligence that she and Morris were more than contented alone. At first she bore his society with outward patience, but soon there came an irritated dislike to this destroyer of so many pleasant tÊte-À-tÊtes between herself and the man who still ruled her entire heart.

Besides, there was the deserted, disconsolate, sulky Lucinda to worry about, and since neither Evarne's snubs nor hints, or even actual commands, could drive Tony back to his neglected privileges, it became obviously Morris's duty as host to do his best to prevent the forsaken one from feeling too overwhelmingly lonely. So it came gradually to pass, to Evarne's dismay, that Morris spent most of his time by Mrs. Belmont.

The girl felt herself so helpless; in the privacy of their cabin Morris always answered her loving complaints so gently and affectionately, deploring the fact but insisting on its necessity and its temporary nature, that she sought at first to be trustful and comforted. But the time came when she could no longer refuse to see that her lover was, in sooth, fully satisfied with the present state of affairs, and desired no other.

Then the days grew full of anguish to the girl. Justine alone noticed aught amiss, and showed a desire to advise as how best to cope with the situation. But Evarne could not bring herself to actually acknowledge that here she was suddenly plunged into a vulgar struggle with another woman—and one so coarse, ignorant and inferior to herself—for the possession of a man.

Instead, all that her youthful wisdom prompted was to strive to arouse jealous doubts and fears in Morris's breast. So, for a weary, dreary day or two she was bewilderingly responsive to Tony's dull talk and banal and often over-bold compliments. But all she gained, as her laugh rang out gay and bright enough to rivet attention, was an indulgent smile from Morris, and the irritating remark from Lucinda—

"How splendidly you two do get on together! And I'll warrant all your little jokes are secret, so that Mr. Kenyon and I must be resigned to be left out in the cold."