The period of relief had been granted, the room appeared to be empty. But as she crossed the thick rugs her heart leapt suddenly into her throat, for she became aware of a man standing in the open doorway. His back was turned to her, but in a moment she saw that the short, slim figure in white linen Eastern clothes bore no resemblance to the tall Suna she had expected to see. She thought her footsteps were noiseless, but he turned with a little quick bow. A typical Sound Countryman with narrow, alert, clean-shaven face, sleek black hair and dark restless eyes. His legs were slightly bowed and he stooped a little; his appearance was that of a jockey with the manners of a well-trained servant. Hana coloured hotly under his glance, but his eyes were lowered instantly.
"Madame is doubtless ready for lunch." He spoke rapidly, but his voice was low and pleasant. His movements were as quick and as quiet as his voice, and in a dream Hana found herself in a few moments before a lunch that was perfectly cooked and daintily served. The man hovered about her solicitously, attending to her wants with dexterous hands and watchful eyes that anticipated every need. She was bewildered, faint from want of food, everything seemed unreal. For the moment she could just sit still and be waited on by the soft-footed, soft-spoken manservant who seemed such a curious adjunct to the household of a Suna chief.
"My lord begs that you will excuse him until this evening. He will return in time for dinner," he murmured as he handed her a steamed semolina (one of the country's native dish maybe 😆).
Hana looked up blankly. "My lord?"
"My master. The Chief."
She flushed scarlet and her face hardened. Hypocritical, Western beast who "begged to be excused"! She refused the last dish curtly, and as the servant carried it away she propped her elbows on the table and rested her aching head on her hands. A headache was among the new experiences that had overwhelmed her since the day before. Suffering in any form was new to her, and her hatred of the man who had made her suffer grew with every breath she drew.
The Sound-man came back with coffee and served her.
"My lord dines at eight. At what hour will Madame have tea?" he asked, as he cleared away and folded up the table.
Hana choked back the sarcastic retort that sprang to her lips. The man's quiet, deferential manner, that refused to see anything extraordinary in her presence in his master's camp, was almost harder to bear than flagrant insolence would have been. That she could have dealt with; this left her tingling with a feeling of weakness, as if a net were gradually closing round her in whose entangling meshes her boasted liberty was not only threatened, but which seemed destined even to stifle her very existence. She pulled her racing thoughts up with a jerk. She must not think if she was going to keep any hold over herself at all. She gave him an answer indifferently and turned her back on him. When she looked again he was gone, and she heaved a sigh of relief. It's been annoying under his watchful eyes until the feeling of restraint had grown unbearable.