"Come now, my dear," he said heartily, "this is a surprise, of
course, but after all you will find it is for the best--much for the
best--"
His voice died away. After a long pause, "You may make the
arrangements," she told him in a still, tenacious little voice, "but
you cannot make me marry him.... I will never put on the marriage
dress.... Never wear the diadem.... Never stir one step within his
house."
A complete silence succeeded this declaration. He got up violently
from beside her. She did not dare look at him. He was going away,
she thought.
It would be the beginning of war. She did not know what he would do
but she knew that she would endure it.
And the gossip of the harems would be her protection. Her
opposition, bruited through those feminine channels, would not be
long in reaching Hamdi Bey.... And no man could to-day be so callous
of his pride or the world's opinion that he would be willing to
receive such a revolting bride.
Did her father think of that, that poor, pale power of hers? He
stood irresolute, as if meditating a last exhortation, and then
suddenly turned on her the haggard face of a violent despair.
"Would you see me ruined?" he said passionately.
Sharply he glanced about the room, at the far, closed doors where it
was not inconceivable that old Miriam was lurking, and strode over
to her and began talking very jerkily and huskily, over her bent
head.
"I tell you that Hamdi is making this a condition--it is the price
of silence, of those papers back.
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