The Mena weekly star., 1913-05-29
Certainly, You Are My Daughter"

Certainly, You Are My Daughter" said impulsiyely, holding out her hands.
 No" Fortune drew back. "Tt is too late"
 Have 1t so. But you speak of go- Ing out into the world to earn your own bread and butter. What do you know about the world? What could you do? You have never done any. thing but read romantic novels and moon about in the tlower-garden. Fool ish chit! Harm Mr Jones? Why? For what purpose? I have no more interest in him than if he were one or those mummies over in the muse um. And l certainly meant to repay hlm. l should have done so if you hadn't taken the task upon your own broad shoulders. I am in a hurry. l am going out to Mena House to tea. I've let Celeste off for the day, so please unlock my waist and do not bother your head about Mr. Jones'" She turned her back upon her daughter. l tNANO SOilhdtiAI NiIdl olt ldu IOT llt time suppressed the incipient rebel lion. She heard Fortune crossing tHe loom. What are you doing?" petu lantly.
 T am ringing for the hall-maid" |" And Fortune resumed her chair, picked up her Baedeker, and became apparently absorbed over the map of Assuan.
 Again wrath mounted to her moth. CTS head. She could combat anger, tears, protestations; but this indiffer- ence, studied and unf1lial, left her weaponless; and she was too wise to unbridle her tongue, much as she longed to do so. She was beaten. Not an agreeable sensation to one who counted only her victories. Fortune, later you will be sorry for this spirit" she said, when she felt the tremor of wrath no longer in her | throat.
 Fortune turned a page, and jotted down some notes with a pencil. Sad as she was at heart, tragic as she knew the result of this outbreak to be, she could hardly repress a smile at the thought of her mothers dis comfiture.
 And so the chasm widened, and went on widening till the end of time. Mrs. Chedsoye was glad that the hall-maid knocked and came in just then. 1t at least saved her the ig- | nominy of a retreat She dressed, however, with the same deliberate care that she had always used. Noth- ing ever deranged her sense of pro- portion relative to her toilet, nothing ever made her forget its importance.
 "Goodby dear" she said. q shall be in at dinner" If the maid had any suspicion that there had been a quarrel. she should at least be i'm pressed with the fact that she, Mrs. Chedsoye, was not to blame for 1t.
 Fortune nibbled the end of her pen. ell.
 The door closed behind her mother and the maid. She waited for time. Then she sprang to the window and stood there. She saw her mother driven off. She was dressed in pearl grey, with a Reynolds hat of grey velour and sweeping plumes: as hand some and distinguished a woman as | could be found that day in all Cairo. | The watcher threw her Baedeker, her notebook, and her pencil violently into a corner. It had come to her at last, this thing that she had been striving for since noon. She did not care what the risks were; the storm was too high in her heart to listen to the voice of caution. She would do 1t; for she judged 1t the one thing, in justice to her own blood, she must accomplish. She straightway dressed for the street; and if she did not give the same care as her mother to the vital function, she produced an effect that merited comparison.
 She ioitered before the porters bu- reau till she saw him busily engaged in answering questions of some wom- en tourists. Then, with slight but friendly nod, she stepped into the bu- reau and stopped before the key-rack. She hung up her key, but took 1t uONh dSdiH, uS II shC udu SHdh6tu her mind. At least, this was the DOT ter's impression as he bowed to her in the midst of the verbal lombard ment. Fortune went upstairs. Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed, when she returned, hung up the key, and walked briskly toward the side-entrance at the very moment George, in his fruit less search of her. pushed through the revolving doors in front. And all the time she was wondering how it was that her knees did not given un- der. It was terrible. She balanced between laughter and tears, hysteri cally.
 She had gone scarcely a hundred yards when she was accosted by a tall Arab whom she indistinctly recol lected having seen before; where, she could not definitely imagine. It was the ragged green turban that cleared away her puzzlement. The Arab was the supposed beggar over whom Perci- val Chow easily she had fallen into the habit of calling him that!) had stum- bled. He stood so tall and straight that she knew he wasn't going to beg; so naturally she stopped. Without a word, without even a look that ex- pressed anything, he slipped note into her hand, bowed with Oriental gravity, and stepped aside for her to nroceed. She read the note hastily