What were those women saying of her now? Mrs. Cameron was no doubt declaiming, and they all agreed with her. Every word that she had said was turned against her. On that perception she was filled with shame. The unkindness, the indecency of holding up her husband’s people to provide amusement for a hostile race appeared unthinkable, the basest treachery. A wave of tenderness for Yûsuf, for Ghandûr, the slave-girls, even the old woman⁠—all the home surroundings⁠—overcame her; while her mind abhorred the frigid, callous English, who had lured her on to make a mock of her. Why should she ever see them more? She hated them. Phrases which had passed her lips ten minutes since were now abominable⁠—a source of shame that could not cease, it seemed, but must flow on forever till the end of time. How had she uttered them? It was their fault for scorning her, for placing her on an unnatural footing, making speech a pitfall. The harem was her natural refuge, her true home. She never wished to quit its shade again.

Thus fiercely musing, she pursued the sandy lane until she reached a point where a road branched off from it at right angles.