This was the first impression that he got—­from the most striking, curious face he had ever seen in a woman.  It remained very near him all through the meal:  she had moved to his table, it seemed she sat beside him.  Their minds certainly knew contact from that moment.

It is never difficult to credit strangers with the qualities and knowledge that oneself craves for, and no doubt Henriot’s active fancy went busily to work.  But, none the less, this thing remained and grew:  that this woman was aware of the hidden things of Egypt he had always longed to know.  There was knowledge and guidance she could impart.  Her soul was searching among ancient things.  Her face brought the Desert back into his thoughts.  And with it came—­the sand.

Here was the flash.  The sight of her restored the peace and splendour he had left behind him in his Desert camps.  The rest, of course, was what his imagination constructed upon this slender basis.  Only,—­not all of it was imagination.

Now, Henriot knew little enough of women, and had no pose of “understanding” them.  His experience was of the slightest; the love and veneration felt for his own mother had set the entire sex upon the heights.  His affairs with women, if so they may be called, had been transient—­all but those of early youth, which having never known the devastating test of fulfilment, still remained ideal and superb.  There was unconscious humour in his attitude—­from a distance; for he regarded women with wonder and respect, as puzzles that sweetened but complicated life, might even endanger it.  He certainly was not a marrying man!  But now, as he felt the presence of this woman so deliberately possess him, there came over him two clear, strong messages, each vivid with certainty.  One was that banal suggestion of familiarity claimed by lovers and the like—­he had often heard of it—­“I have known that woman before; I have met her ages ago somewhere; she is strangely familiar to me”; and the other, growing out of it almost:  “Have nothing to do with her; she will bring you trouble and confusion; avoid her, and be warned";—­in fact, a distinct presentiment.

Yet, although Henriot dismissed both impressions as having no shred of evidence to justify them, the original clear judgment, as he studied her extraordinary countenance, persisted through all denials The familiarity, and the presentiment, remained.  There also remained this other—­an enormous imaginative leap!—­that she could teach him “Egypt.”

He watched her carefully, in a sense fascinated.  He could only describe the face as black, so dark it was with the darkness of great age.  Elderly was the obvious, natural word; but elderly described the features only.  The expression of the face wore centuries.  Nor was it merely the coal-black eyes that betrayed an ancient, age-travelled soul behind them.  The entire presentment mysteriously conveyed it.  This woman’s heart knew long-forgotten