He persuaded the Captain to give a dance on our last night at sea, so
the awnings were spread, the electric lights were turned on, and the
deck of the ship became a scene of enchantment.
My husband and Alma led off. He danced beautifully and she was dressed
to perfection. Not being a dancer myself I stood with the Captain in the
darkness outside, looking in on them in the bright and dazzling circle,
while the moon-rays were sweeping the waters like a silver fan and the
little waves were beating the ship's side with friendly pats.
I was almost happy. In my simplicity I was feeling grateful to Alma for
having wrought this extraordinary change, so that when, on our arrival
at Port Said, my husband said,
"Your friend Madame Lier has made no arrangements for her rooms at
Cairo--hadn't I better telegraph to our hotel, dear?" I answered, "Yes,"
and wondered why he had asked me.
Our hotel was an oriental building, situated on an island at the further
side of the Nile. Formerly the palace of a dead Khedive, who had built
it in honour of the visit of an Empress, it had a vast reception hall
with a great staircase.
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