Presently she turned to me with a frank smile. "You have been
weighed in the balance of friendship," she said, "and not found wanting.
You have the gift of sympathy, even with a woman's sentimental fancies."
I suspected that a good many men would have developed this precious
quality under the circumstances, but I refrained from saying so. There
is no use in crying down one's own wares. I was glad enough to have
earned her good opinion so easily, and when she at length turned away
from the case and passed through into the adjoining room, it was a very
complacent young man who bore her company.
"Here is Ahkhenaten--or Khu-en-aten, as the authorities here render the
hieroglyphics." She indicated a fragment of a coloured relief labelled:
"Portion of a painted stone tablet with a portrait figure of Amen-hetep
IV," and we stopped to look at the frail, effeminate figure of the great
king, with his large cranium, his queer, pointed chin and the Aten rays
stretching out their weird hands as if caressing him.
"We mustn't stay here if you want to see my uncle's gift, because this
room closes at four to-day.
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