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Concealing his shock, though from whom he wasn't certain, since neither Ramsey nor Samir took official note of him, he tore off one of the blue-and-white morning glories blooming just over his head.

He stared at the perfect trumpet-shaped blossom. What sweetness. Then slowly he looked up to meet Ramsey's gaze.

Samir roused himself suddenly from his apparent state of meditation.

"Lord Rutherford, allow me ..." Then he stopped as if at a complete loss for words.

Ramsey rose to his feet, wiping his fingers carefully on his linen napkin.

Absently the Earl slipped the morning glory in his pocket, and then extended his hand.

"Reginald Ramsey," he said, "a great pleasure. I'm an old friend of the Stratford family. Something of an Egyptologist myself. It is my son, Alex, who is engaged to be married to Julie. Perhaps you know."

The man hadn't known. Or he didn't understand. A faint flush came to his cheeks.

"Married to Julie?" he said in a half whisper. And then, with forced gaiety: "He is a fortunate man, your son."

The Earl eyed the table laden with food, because he couldn't stop himself, and the blossoms all but crowding out the sun above. He looked placidly at the man before him, who was certainly one of the handsomest creatures he'd ever seen. Downright beautiful, when you thought of it. The sort of large compassionate blue eyes that drive women mad. Add the ready smile and one has a near-fatal combination.

But the silence was becoming uncomfortable.

"Ah, the diary," Elliott said. He reached into his coat. Samir recognized it immediately, that was plain.

"This diary," Elliott said, "it belonged to Lawrence. It has valuable information on Ramses' tomb. Notes on a papyrus left by the man, it seems. I picked it up the other night. I must put it back."

There was a sudden coldness in Ramsey's face.

Elliott turned, leaning on his cane, and took a few painful steps toward Lawrence's desk.

Ramsey came along with him.

"The pain in your joints," Ramsey asked, "have you a modern ... a medicine for it? There was an old Egyptian remedy. The willow bark. One had to boil it."

"Yes," Elliott answered, looking up again into those distracting blue eyes. "In this day and age we call it aspirin, don't we?" He smiled. This was going infinitely better than he had ever anticipated. He hoped the colour wasn't dancing in his face as it was in Ramsey's. "Where have you been all these years that you haven't heard of aspirin, my dear man? We produce it synthetically, and of course you are familiar with that word."

Ramsey's composure was unbroken, though he narrowed his eyes just a little as if he wanted the Earl to realize he was being appraised.

"I'm not a scientific man, Lord Rutherford," he answered. "I'm more an observer, a philosopher. So you call it aspirin. I am pleased to know it. Maybe I have spent too much of my time in distant lands." He raised his eyebrows almost playfully.

"Of course the ancient Egyptians had more potent medicines than willow bark, didn't they?" Elliott pushed it. He looked at the row of alabaster jars on the table across the room. "Potent medicines--elixirs, so to speak--which could cure more potent ailments than the pain I suffer in my bones."

"Potent medicines have their price," Ramses replied calmly. "Or shall I say, their dangers. But what an unusual man you are, Lord Rutherford. Surely you don't believe what you read in the notebook of your friend Lawrence."

"Oh, but I do believe it. Because, you see, I am not a scientific man either. Perhaps, we are both philosophers, you and I. And I fancy myself something of a poet, because so much of my wandering has been in my dreams alone."

The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"A poet," Ramsey repeated, eyes moving over Elliott almost rudely to take his measure. "I understand you. But you do say most unusual things."

Elliott tried to hold steady. He could feel the sweat breaking out under his shirt. The man's face was so unexpectedly open, and almost inviting.

"I should like to know you," Elliott confessed suddenly. "I ... I should like to ... learn from you." He hesitated. The blue eyes fixed him in silence again. "Perhaps in Cairo or Alexandria we should have some time to talk to one another. Perhaps even on shipboard, we might become acquainted."

"You are going to Egypt?" Ramsey asked, cocking his head.

"Yes." Politely he moved past Ramsey, and into the drawing room. He stood beside Julie, who had just signed another bank draft for her uncle, which she placed now in his hands.

"Yes," Elliott said, turning back to Ramsey and speaking loudly enough for the others to hear him. "Alex and I are both going. I booked passage on the same ship, as soon as Julie called. We wouldn't dream of letting her go alone, would we, Alex?"