On its
roof, in the great square shadow of its double towers, he was presented
to a dainty little lady, whose black eyes grew large and luminous at
the coming of the scribe. She was Masanath, the youngest and only
unwedded child of Har-hat, the king's adviser. Her oval face had a
uniform rose-leaf flush, her little nose was distinctly aquiline, her
little mouth warm and ripe. Her teeth were dazzlingly white, and, like
a baby's, notched on the edges with minute serrations. But with all
her tininess, she planted her sandal with decision and scrutinized
whosoever addressed her in a way that was eloquent of a force and
perception larger by far than the lady they characterized.
And this was the love of Hotep. Kenkenes smiled. The top of her
pretty head was not nearly on a level with his shoulders, and the small
hand she extended had the determined grip with which a baby seizes a
proffered finger. A vision of the golden Israelite rose beside her and
the smile vanished.
The day was warm and the courtiers in search of a breeze were scattered
about the palace-top in picturesque groups. Masanath occupied a
diphros, or double chair, and a female attendant, standing behind her,
stirred the warm air with a perfumed fan.
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