The Sheik | Page 2

"You can call it mad, if you like," he said slowly. "I live near the
Mayos' in England, and happen to know the story. Sir John Mayo was
passionately devoted to his wife; after twenty years of married life they
were still lovers. Then this girl was born, and the mother died. Two
hours afterwards her husband shot himself, leaving the baby in the sole
care of her brother, who was just nineteen, and as lazy and as selfish
then as he is now. The problem of bringing up a girl child was too
much trouble to be solved, so he settled the difficulty by treating her as
if she was a boy. The result is what you see."
They moved nearer to the open window, looking into the brilliantly lit
ballroom, already filled with gaily chattering people. On a slightly
raised platform at one end of the room the host and hostess were
receiving their guests. The brother and sister were singularly unlike. Sir
Aubrey Mayo was very tall and thin, the pallor of his face accentuated
by the blackness of his smoothly brushed hair and heavy black
moustache. His attitude was a mixture of well-bred courtesy and
languid boredom. He seemed too tired even to keep the single eye-glass
that he wore in position, for it dropped continually. By contrast the girl
at his side appeared vividly alive. She was only of medium height and
very slender, standing erect with the easy, vigorous carriage of an
athletic boy, her small head poised proudly. Her scornful mouth and
firm chin showed plainly an obstinate determination, and her deep blue
eyes were unusually clear and steady. The long, curling black lashes
that shaded her eyes and the dark eyebrows were a foil to the thick crop
of loose, red-gold curls that she wore short, clubbed about her ears.
"The result is worth seeing," said the American admiringly, referring to
his companion's last remark.
A third and younger man joined them.

"Hallo, Arbuthnot. You're late. The divinity is ten deep in would-be
partners already."
A dull red crept into the young man's face, and he jerked his head
angrily.
"I got waylaid by Lady Conway--poisonous old woman! She had a
great deal to say on the subject of Miss Mayo and her trip. She ought to
be gagged. I thought she was going on talking all night, so I fairly
bolted in the end. All the same, I agree with her on one point. Why
can't that lazy ass Mayo go with his sister?"
Nobody seemed to be able to give an answer. The band had begun
playing, and the floor was covered with laughing, talking couples.
Sir Aubrey Mayo had moved away, and his sister was left standing
with several men, who waited, programme in hand, but she waved them
away with a little smile and a resolute shake of her head.
"Things seem to be getting a hustle on," said the American.
"Are you going to try your luck?" asked the elder of the two
Englishmen.
The American bit the end off a cigar with a little smile.
"I sure am not. The haughty young lady turned me down as a dancer
very early in our acquaintance. I don't blame her," he added, with a
rueful laugh, "but her extreme candour still rankles. She told me quite
plainly that she had no use for an American who could neither ride nor
dance. I did intimate to her, very gently, that there were a few little
openings in the States for men beside cattle-punching and cabaret
dancing, but she froze me with a look, and I faded away. No, Sir
Egotistical Complacency will be having some bridge later on, which
will suit me much better. He's not a bad chap underneath if you can
swallow his peculiarities, and he's a sportsman. I like to play with him.
He doesn't care a durn if he wins or loses."

"It doesn't matter when you have a banking account the size of his,"
said Arbuthnot. "Personally, I find dancing more amusing and less
expensive. I shall go and take my chance with our hostess."
His eyes turned rather eagerly towards the end of the room where the
girl was standing alone, straight and slim, the light from an electrolier
gilding the thick bright curls framing her beautiful, haughty little face.
She was staring down at the dancers with an absent expression in her
eyes, as if her thoughts were far away from the crowded ballroom.
The American pushed Arbuthnot forward with a little laugh.
"Run along, foolish moth, and get your poor little wings singed. When
the cruel fair has done trampling on you I'll come right along and mop
up the remains. If, on the other hand, your temerity meets with the
success it