I have not
told thee all the stake upon thy love for the prince. Does it not seem
that since a maiden will not love one winsome man there must be another
already installed in her heart?"
She drew back, changing color.
"How little of the court-lady thou art, Masanath," he broke oft,
looking at her face. "Thy sensations are too near the surface. Thou
must teach thy face to dissemble. It was this very eloquence of
countenance that betrayed thy foolish preferences. Mind thee, I know
it to be but a maiden fancy which, discouraged, dies. But have a care
lest it bring disaster upon him whom thou hast put in jeopardy of the
fierce power of the prince."
Masanath's eyes widened with terror. The fan-bearer continued: "I have
but to mention the name of Hotep--"
She clutched at her heart.
"Ah?" he observed with mild interrogation in the word. "How foolish
thy caprice! Hotep does not thank thee. His marble spirit hath set
its loves upon ink-pots and papyri and such pulseless things. How I
should reproach myself if I must undo him--"
"Nay, bring no disaster on the head of the noble Hotep," she begged.
"He--I--there is naught between us."
"It is even as I had thought. I shall tell Rameses and send him to
thee," he said, moving away.
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