So she put her face right into the basin, lifted it sparkling with laughter and rainbow drops to bury it in the snowy cloth.  Her sleeves she turned back, and ran the water up and down her arms.

“And you must wash your feet, woman, for so small are they, they must assuredly be fatigued!”

And without hesitation the girl proffered her shoe to be unlaced, whilst without lifting her skirt, with a quick movement she undid the suspender which held her last pair of real silk stockings to the infinitesimal girdle she wore instead of the usual figure-distorting corset, peeled off the silken hose and put the prettiest foot in the world in flesh, painting, or marble, into another basin of brass laid upon the ground, and also filled with water.

“Allah!” whispered the man, as he dried each little foot, “so small, so slender, rivalling the arch of Ctesisphon, dimpled as the sky at dawn, never in the most perfect Circassian have I seen feet so wonderful, glory be to Allah, whose prophet is Mohammed.”

And then the Arab, filling another basin, moved to the far corner of the rug, where facing towards the East he made ablutions of his mouth and hands and feet, and raising his hands to heaven, gave praise to his God for the wonder of the day, and bowed himself in obeisance.

“I was returning thanks to Allah for you, O!  Moon Flower,” he said simply, and led her to the cloth of finest damask upon which the repast was spread, praising Allah anew as he poured the contents of the wine jars upon the sands when Jill announced that she only drank water.

Rested and cheered, the girl chatted merrily all through the al fresco meal, in her turn inwardly giving thanks for the Arab’s perfect manners and knowledge of table methods, for in her heart she, particular to the point of becoming finicky about the usually so unpleasant process of eating, had looked forward with absolute horror to the moment when the man’s fingers should close upon some succulent portion of a mess of pottage or chicken, and convey it to his mouth with charitable distribution of rice grains upon the beard.

Reassured, her laughter rang out sweetly when the absence of methylated spirit for the “Cona Machine” was discovered.

“And I would really rather have yours,” said she, “for am I not to
become an Eastern------” and suddenly stopped, for looking up she found
the man gazing at her with eyes ablaze with love.

And once more a great silence fell between them, as they both sat staring wide-eyed over the desert, and up into the starry heavens.

Few, very few of those who live in the West have had the privilege of sitting alone under the stars in the desert.

This does not mean riding out on a tourist track with dragoman and camel-driver, and retiring a few yards from their perpetual chatter to gaze at the heavens in what you imagine to be the approved style, to the accompaniment of correct gasps, after which, finding you have left your cigarettes behind, you look at your wrist watch and wait another five minutes, until you can with decency saunter back to your camel-driver with the feeling of something quite well done, and the unuttered hope in your mind that everyone would not have gone to bed on your return.