"Is she then so very fair, this mysterious Neit-akrit whom I have never seen, but who will be my kinswoman when thou art my wife? Tell me about her."
I thought that this was a false move on Hugh's part. It is never safe to express interest in one lady in the presence of another, and I was not surprised to see Queen Maat-kha's eyes flash with anger, and—I thought—jealous suspicion.
"What can I tell thee," she said indifferently, "save that some have called her fair?"
"Is she young?"
"She is little more than a child; her body is straight and angular; she has large eyes, but they are not dark, and her hair is of a peculiar colour. What can I tell thee of her?"
"Tell him that Neit-akrit is beautiful beyond what man born of woman can conceive," suddenly said a harsh and sarcastic voice immediately behind us; "that her eyes are blue and mysterious as is the light of Isis, when she rises silent and solitary in the night, that her hair is like the rays with which Osiris bathes the heavens when he himself has sunk to rest. Tell him that her body is tall and lithe as the graceful papyrus grass which sways gently in the wind, and that her feet are white and transparent like the polished tusks of the young elephant. Tell him that her voice is sweeter than the song of birds or chorus of goddesses around Ra's throne, and that her cheeks would shame the lotus blossom in their tints. Then, when thou hast described all this and more to him, who is beloved of the gods, tell him that, though his soul be descended direct from the foot of the throne of Ra, and his heart was fashioned by the hand of Osiris himself, he cannot kindle one spark of life in the heart and soul of beautiful Neit-akrit, but that he will see his own,
