"
"Her French nose?" echoed Stephen.
"Yes. Her nose and the rest of her's French, especially her dimples. You
never saw such dimples. Miss Ray's prettier than my girl, I suppose. But
I think mine's beyond anything. Only she isn't and won't be mine that's
the worst of it."
"Where is she?" Stephen asked. "In Algiers?"
"No such luck. But her sister is. I'll take you to see the sister
to-morrow morning. She may be able to tell us something to help Miss
Ray. She keeps a curiosity-shop, and is a connoisseur of Eastern
antiquities, as well as a great character in Algiers, quite a sort of
queen in her way--a quaint way. All the visiting Royalties of every
nation drop in and spend hours in her place. She has a good many Arab
acquaintances, too. Even rich chiefs come to sell, or buy things from
her, and respect her immensely. But my girl--I like to call her that--is
away off in the west, close to the border of Morocco, at Tlemcen. I
wish you were interested in mosques, and I'd take you there. People who
care for such things sometimes travel from London or Paris just to see
the mosque of Sidi Bou-Medine and a certain Mirab. But I suppose you
haven't any fad of that kind, eh?"
"I feel it coming on," said Stephen.
"Good chap! Do encourage the feeling. I'll lend you books, lots of
books, on the subject. She's 'malema,' or mistress of an _ecole
indigene_ for embroideries and carpets, at Tlemcen. Heaven knows how few
francs a month she earns by the job which takes all her time and life,
yet she thinks herself lucky to get it.
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