She said that she was longing to see him,
and "hurrying all she knew," to escape from her friends, and get back to
"dear London, and her darling White Knight."
"I'm an ass to expect anything from coming here," he thought, as he saw
the entrance gates of the palace park blazing with green lights in a
trellis of verdure. The drive and all the paths that wound through the
park were bordered with tiny lamps, and Chinese lanterns hung from the
trees. There was sure to be a crush, and it seemed absurd to hope that
even Nevill's cajoleries could draw serious information from Arab guests
in such a scene as this.
The two young men went into the palace, passing through a big veranda
where French officers were playing bridge, and on into a charming court,
where Turkish coffee was being served. Up from this court a staircase
led to the room where the Governor was receiving, and at each turn of
the stairs stood a Spahi in full dress uniform, with a long white haick.
Nevill was going on ahead, meaning to introduce Stephen to the Governor
before beginning his search for acquaintances among the Arab chiefs who
grouped together over the coffee cups. But, turning to speak to Stephen,
who had been close behind at starting, he found that somehow they had
been swept apart. He stepped aside to wait for his friend, and let the
crowd troop past him up the wide staircase. Among the first to go by was
an extremely handsome Arab wearing a scarlet cloak heavy with gold
embroidery, thrown over a velvet coat so thickly encrusted with gold
that its pale-blue colour showed only here and there.
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