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Never was such a spoiled child as Geeka. Its little mother, far
from fashioning her own conduct after the example set her by her
father and nurse, went to the extreme of indulgence. Geeka was
kissed a thousand times a day. There was play in which Geeka was
naughty; but the little mother never punished. Instead, she caressed
and fondled; her attitude influenced solely by her own pathetic
desire for love.
Now, as she pressed Geeka close to her, her sobs lessened gradually,
until she was able to control her voice, and pour out her misery
into the ivory ear of her only confidante.
"Geeka loves Meriem," she whispered. "Why does The Sheik, my
father, not love me, too? Am I so naughty? I try to be good; but
I never know why he strikes me, so I cannot tell what I have done
which displeases him. Just now he kicked me and hurt me so, Geeka;
but I was only sitting before the tent making a skirt for you.
That must be wicked, or he would not have kicked me for it. But
why is it wicked, Geeka? Oh dear! I do not know, I do not know.
I wish, Geeka, that I were dead.


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