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and muttered something under his breath; but he was too fond of Sheikh Mohammed to make a scene. When the sheikh presented "Prince Kalenischeff," my husband forced an unconvincing smile and said only, "I have met the—er—hem—gentleman."
    I had not met him, but I knew of him. As he bowed over myhand, holding it pressed to his lips longer than convention decreed, I remembered Emerson's critical comments. "He worked at Abydos with Amelineau; between them, they made a pretty mess of the place. He calls himself an archaeologist, but that designation is as inaccurate as his title is apocryphal. If he is a Russian prince, I am the Empress of China."
    Since Emerson was critical of all archaeologists, I had taken this with a grain of salt; but I must admit the prince's bold dark eyes and sneering smile made a poor impression on me.
    The conversation was largely confined that evening to archaeological subjects. I remember the main topic concerned the proposed dam at Philae, which in its original design would have drowned the Ptolemaic temples on the island. Emerson, who despises the monuments of this degenerate period, annoyed a number of his colleagues by saying the cursed temples were not worth preserving, even if they did retain their original coloring. In the end, of course, he added his name to the petition sent to the Foreign Office, and I do not doubt that the name of Emerson carried considerable weight in the final decision to lower the height of the dam and spare the temples.
    His eyes twinkling merrily, the sheikh made his usual provocative remarks about the female sex. I countered, as usual, and treated the gentlemen to a lecture on women's rights. Only once did a ripple of potential strife disturb the calm of the evening, when Naville asked Emerson where he would be digging that season. The question was asked in all innocence, but Emerson replied with a dark scowl and a firm refusal to discuss his plans. It might have passed off had not Kalenischeff said, in a lazy drawl, "The most promising sites have been allocated, you know. You ought not delay so long in applying, Professor."
    Emerson's response would certainly have been rude. I managed to prevent it by popping a chunk of lamb into his open mouth. We were eating Arab-style, sitting cross-legged around the low table and feeding one another choice bits, a manner of dining that proved particularly useful on this occasion.
    Throughout the meal Ramses sat like a little statue, speakingonly when spoken to and eating as neatly as was possible under the circumstances. When we were ready to take our departure he made an impeccable salaam and thanked the sheikh in flawless Arabic. The ingenuous old gentleman was delighted. Folding Ramses to the bosom of his spotless robes, he addressed him as "son" and proclaimed him an honorary member of his tribe.
    When we were at last in the carriage, Emerson subsided with a groan and clasped his hands over his midsection. "The only fault I have to find with Arab hospitality is its extravagance. I have eaten too much, Amelia. I know I shan't sleep a wink tonight."
    Since the main course had consisted of a whole roasted sheep stuffed with chickens, which were in turn stuffed with quail, I shared Emerson's sentiments. But of course it would have been the height of discourtesy to refuse a dish. Suppressing an unseemly sound of repletion, I said, "Ramses, you behaved very well. Mama was proud of you."
    "I was testing my knowledge of de language," said Ramses. "It was reassuring to discover dat de purely academic training I have received from Uncle Walter was adequate for de purpose. I comprehended virtually everyt'ing dat was said."
    "Did you indeed?" I said, somewhat uneasily. Ramses had been so subdued I had almost forgotten he was present, and I had expressed myself forcibly on certain of the sexual and marital customs that keep Egyptian women virtually slaves in their own homes. While I was trying to remember what I had said, Ramses went