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priest who officiated kept forgetting the words. The handsome flush that had darkened Emerson's cheeks was not caused by embarrassment or laughter. He knew he had lost considerable ground during the exchange and was trying to think how to regain it without offending Sennia. "You need me, sir and madam," said Gargery. "Especially with Mr. David staying behind and little miss along." "Oh-er-bah," said Emerson, with a wary look at Sennia. She was watching him like a small protective dragon. He forced a sickly, unconvincing smile. "Hmph." "So that's settled," said Nefret. "Come, Ramses, we haven't done our mile round the deck yet. Will you join us, Sennia?" "I will stay with Gargery." She took his hand. And stay with him she did, during most of the daylight hours for the remainder of the voyage. It took Emerson several days to get back in her good graces. "Curse it," he remarked gloomily. "I daren't so much as scowl at the rascal." "She is fiercely protective of all those she loves, Emerson. She would take your part just as vigorously if someone were unkind to you." "D'you think so?" Emerson considered this idea. "I refuse to pick a quarrel with you so that Sennia can defend you. She'll get over it; just be polite to Gargery." "Damnation," said Emerson. I have never cared for Alexandria. It has no pharaonic monuments worth mentioning, and the city is a blend of the worst of European and Eastern characteristics, with little of the charm of Cairo's shadowy old streets. This year the harbor was crowded with shipping, including a depressing number of hospital vessels. Alex had been the center of operations for the Gallipoli Campaign; the brave lads from Australia and New Zealand had sailed from there, in high spirits and with promises of a quick return. They had returned only too soon. There were so many wounded, the hospitals could not take them all in; the Red Cross flag flew over many villas and houses in and around the city. It was a relief to board the train for Cairo, and only the need to hide our feelings from the child kept us from gloomy introspection and gloomier conversation. However, being back in Egypt was pleasure enough to take our minds off sadder subjects, and when we pulled into the central station in Cairo, we were met by a shouting, cheering crowd-members of the family that had worked for and with us for so many years. Abdullah, our reis and dear friend, was gone now, but his children and grandchildren and nephews and nieces and cousins formed a close-knit clan. As soon as the train came to a stop, eager hands pulled us from the carriage, and we were immediately surrounded. Fatima, Abdullah's daughter-in-law and our Egyptian housekeeper, snatched Sennia out of Basima's arms; Selim, Abdullah's youngest son who had replaced him as reis, began questioning Emerson about the season's work; Daoud, towering a full head above the others, demanded news of his adored Lia and the baby; Ali and Yussuf, Ibrahim and Mahmud embraced us all in turn. They then escorted us in a triumphal procession to the carriages they had waiting. As soon as we were in our carriage, Emerson began to grumble. "Confound the cursed cabs, they are too slow. Why didn't Selim bring the motorcar?" I had ordered Selim not to. Emerson would have insisted on driving it, and Emerson's notion of operating a motorcar is to head straight for his destination without slackening speed or changing direction. This is not a good method with slow-moving carts and camels. There are a good many of both in the streets of Cairo. Instead of pointing this out, I remarked, with the tact I have developed over many years of marriage, "I expect he wanted to make a spectacle of our arrival. You see how handsomely the carriages are decorated." "Spectacle is the word," Emerson grunted, throwing himself into a corner and folding his arms. "Sennia is enjoying it." I looked back at the carriage following ours. Bright-red tassels hung from the horses' harnesses and bells jingled. I