Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
suspicion of a breeze that made life endurable on Shepheard's terrace. But in the street beyond only the camels seemed at ease.
At this season of the year Cairo is generally deserted by every soul who can get away—at least as far as to Alexandria, where the Mediterranean breezes are to be counted upon to temper the summer heat.
But still, the facts were undeniable; within his memory, O'Rourke had never seen the place so animated, even at the height of the winter tourist season, as now it was.
He swung around again to his cigar and his sherbet, shaking his head in wonderment. "Something's afoot," he muttered, "and the O'Rourke's an outsider!"
A bit later a carriage dashed up to the front of the hotel—a very handsome landau, evidently fresh from the afternoon parade on the Gizereh Drive.
As it stopped almost directly opposite O'Rourke, the man stiffened to a rigidity almost military—head up, shoulders back, eyes straight in front of him, and apparently seeing nothing at all. At the same time a slow flush mounted his lean, brown cheeks, till he had colored to the eyes.
"I will not look at her!" he was saying over and over to himself. "I will not look—'tis as much as me soul is worth!"
Nevertheless, look he did—as though, in fact, his gaze was drawn whether he would or no.
A woman was alighting from the carriage—undoubtedly a very wonderful woman, worthy to rouse even the O'Rourke to an appreciation of her loveliness—O'Rourke, who had seen many beautiful women in his time, and found them all good to look upon.
She was, for one thing, exquisitely gowned, although that
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