Still he said nothing. He is disgusted, I thought. Disgusted by me, by my opinions, and my loudness and my accent. He is struck speechless by disgust.

He bent and lifted Rosie, one hand cupped under her muscular behind, the other supporting her chest. She could be wary with strangers, but there was something calm and assured about his hands. He shifted Rosie to the horizontal and stroked her back all the way to her feather-duster tail. His fingers stopped moving when he felt the misshapen bones.

“She was born that way,” I said, ashamed of her and of myself. “Her tail is a defect. I know that.” I glanced up then and saw that his face had become … Well, I don’t know how to describe it except that he seemed impressed and entertained, at once.

“You are compassionate,” he said softly, as though he knew that I had saved her life by taking her for my own on the day she was born. “I was not much of a student,” he confided then, “but perhaps I would have been if I’d had such a teacher as you, Miss Shanklin.” He set Rosie on the floor decisively. “I had an appointment this morning, but it was canceled. Cairenes are so unreliable. Everything with them is inshallah—”

“If it be God’s will,” I said, remembering the word from Lillian’s stories.

“Yes, but also ‘perhaps,’ or ‘someday.’ Or ‘not bloody likely,’ as the English say. Today, I think, this is good luck. It would be my pleasure to show you something of the city, if you and Rosie would do me the honor?”

Agnes, no! Mumma cried. He’s a complete stranger, and a foreigner.

Here in Cairo, Agnes is a foreigner, too, said Mildred. And that was true, of course.

“What a lovely offer,” I said brightly. “Just let me get my hat.”

We left the lobby with Rosie trotting ahead on her leash while Herr Weilbacher pointed out the sights.