Fragrant blossoms whose perfume fills the air of a flourishing garden... limpid waters on which the pool bestows a color of heaven's own blue... poised statues of art, pulsing with life and splendor... all these welcome you as you pass the outer gate of the home of Mrs. Shafiqa Abd al-Rahim Diab... You ring the bell, and a servant hastens to receive you, trim in dress and cheerful of face, who leads you to the reception hall... and it is not long before you are seized by the splendor of what you behold — rich, costly furnishings and elegant, magnificent appointments... Your eyes are at a loss where to settle: the oil paintings draw your gaze from one side, the gilded settees in the style of Louis XV claim your attention from another, and the lifelike statuary hung from ceiling and walls strives to monopolize your interest — this besides the drapes and curtains and the precious, rarely-seen treasures scattered through corners and nooks... And from the place of honor in the study adjoining the door, Mr. Abd al-Rahim Diab receives you, in a costly gilded frame,

welcoming you with a handsome smile imprinted upon his lips; and you answer him with a bitter sigh that rises burning from your depths for his fresh youth, withered in life's springtime and the pride of its bloom... You continue your progress to the reception hall that is your destination, and find it most elegant in a captivating simplicity, at its head a lovely picture of a small child in whom I recognized Salim, Mrs. Shafiqa's young son, the only boy among his five sisters.

And Mrs. Shafiqa comes toward us, slow of step, calm of feature, her face — bare of any trace of paint or adornment — clothed in a cast of silent melancholy. And like every daughter of my sex who cares about elegance and dress, I stole a glance at what Mrs. Shafiqa was wearing, and found it very simple — that captivating simplicity which in this age of ours is elegance itself. She was clad in a trim black tailleur, and her neck and wrist were bare of any ornament... Perhaps she still grieves for her husband,