There was a longer pause, but still Diana did not move or speak.
"The curse of Ishmael had taken hold of me by then and I wandered
continually. Sometimes Ahmed came with me; we have shot big game
together in most parts of the globe. A few times he stayed with us in
Paris, but never for long; he always wearied to get back to the desert.
Five years ago the old Sheik died; he was an exceptionally strong man,
and should have lived for years but for an accident which crippled him
hopelessly and from which he died a few months afterwards. Ahmed's
devotion during his illness was wonderful. He never left him, and since
he succeeded to the leadership of the tribe he has lived continuously
amongst his people, absorbed in them and his horses, carrying on the
traditions handed down to him by his predecessor and devoting his life
to the tribe. They are like children, excitable, passionate and
headstrong, and he has never dared to risk leaving them alone too long,
particularly with the menace of Ibraheim Omair always in the
background. He has never been able to seek relaxation further afield
than Algiers or Oran----" Saint Hubert stopped abruptly, cursing himself
for a tactless fool. She could not fail to realise the significance of
those visits to the gay, vicious little towns. The inference was
obvious. His thoughtless words would only add to her misery. Her
sensitive mind would shrink from the contamination they implied. If
Ahmed was going to die, she would be desolate enough without forcing on
her knowledge the unworthiness of the man she loved. He pushed his
chair back impatiently and went to the open doorway. He felt that she
wanted to be alone. She watched him go, then slipped to her knees
beside the couch.
She had realised the meaning of Raoul's carelessly uttered words and
they had hurt her poignantly, but it was no new sorrow. He had told her
himself months ago, callously, brutally, sparing her nothing,
extenuating nothing. She pressed her cheek against the hand she was
holding. She did not blame him, she could only love him, no matter what
his life had been. It was Ahmed as he was she loved, his faults, his
vices were as much a part of him as his superb physique and the
alternating moods that had been so hard to meet. She had never known
him otherwise. He seemed to stand alone, outside the prescribed
conventions that applied to ordinary men. The standards of common usage
did not appear compatible with the wild desert man who was his own law
and followed only his own precedent, defiant of social essentials and
scornful of criticism. The proud, fierce nature and passionate temper
that he had inherited, the position of despotic leadership in which he
had been reared, the adulation of his followers and the savage life in
the desert, free from all restraint, had combined to produce the
haughty unconventionalism that would not submit to the ordinary rules
of life.