eyebrows showed the slightest elevation she said nothing.
Beyond the Arab town they passed the long, whitewashed wall of a fort; and near the gateway a Nubian sentry stood blacker than black lacquer against the intolerable whiteness of the white wall under the African sun. Ogle was enraptured with him. "Look at that!" he cried. "It's a blot of printer's ink on white chalk. Or it's as if you saw the glaring white wall through the hollow eye-holes in a mask of blue-black enamel. This is getting to be a show!"
"Wait," she said, and a little later, as they came down a gentle and curving slope, she tapped upon the glass before them. The chauffeur stopped the car. "Now," she said.
But she had no need to tell Ogle to look: he was leaning forward, staring with all his eyes at the unending level of the pale blue horizon—for, except that there were no tossing waters near him, he might have been again, with this same companion beside him, upon the deck of the "Duumvir," looking out to sea.
"It's true then," he said. "I've always heard that the Desert looked exactly like the ocean; but most things like that turn out to be untrue when you come to them yourself. I suppose that blue ocean yon-
