"I didn't say that."
"Would you care much what way it was if it gave the enjoyment?"
"Would you?"
"I! Certainly not. But--I am not like Mr. Armeen."
He slightly mispronounced the name.
"Mr. Armine?" she said. "What about him?"
"Would he not think that some things one might do and many things one must not do? All the Englishmen are like that. Oh, dear, if one does the thing they think wrong! Oh, dear! Oh, Law!"
He took away his hand from his throat, held it up, then slapped it down upon his knee.
"My word!" he added, smiling, and always searching her eyes with his. "It is worse than to eat pig by daylight in Ramadan would seem to an Egyptian."
"Do you dislike the English?"
"What must I say?"
"Say the truth."
"If it is the English ladies, I think them lovely."
"And the Englishmen?"
"Oh, they are all--good fellers."
He threw into the last two words an indescribable sound of half-laughing contempt.
"They are all--good fellers. Don't you think so?"
"But what does that mean?"
"Splendid chaps, madame!"
He sat up straight, and threw out his chest and thumped it.
"Beef, plum pudding, fine fellers, rulers!"
"You mustn't laugh at my countrymen."
"Laugh--never! But--may I smile, just at one corner?"
He showed his rows of little, straight, white teeth, which looked strong enough to bite through a bar of iron.
"The Englishman rules us in Egypt. He keeps saying we are ruling, and he keeps on ruling us. And all the time he rules us, he despises us, madame. He thinks us silly children. But sometimes we smile at him, though of course he never smiles at us, for fear a smile from him should make us think we are not so far below him. It is very wrong of us, but somehow Allah permits us to smile. And then"--again he leaned forward, and his chair creaked in the darkness--"there are some Englishwomen who like to see us smile, some who even smile with us behind the Englishman's back."
He spoke calmly, with a certain subtle irony, but quite without any hint of bitterness, and in speaking the last words he slightly lowered his voice.
"Is it very wrong of them, madame? What do you say? Do you condemn them?"
She did not answer, but her mobile, painted lips quivered, as if she were trying to repress a smile and were not quite succeeding.
"If they smile, if they smile--isn't that a shame, madame?"
He was smiling into her eyes.
"It is a great shame," she said. "I despise deceitful women."
"And yet who does not deceive? Everybody--except the splendid fellers!"