A clear stream runs by the way, and all around is silent and calm, save for the very occasional noise of a passing carriage. In summer, with the sun shining on the grazing cows, it would seem an ideal spot for this untiring worker.
A voracious reader of the Continental Press, Halidé Hanoum has told me of her great amusement at the report that her flight into Anatolia had been "promoted by a desire to flee from harems and veils." It is, of course, in Constantinople that the women have so largely cast off the old customs, whereas in far-away Anatolia most are still rigorously kept in seclusion. "People in Europe simply cannot grasp what our civilisation means," she said; "that is what makes it so difficult for us to come to an understanding."
She and her husband, Dr. Adnan Bey, now Angora High Commissioner in Constantinople, would have been imprisoned with the other Nationalists three years ago had they not managed to escape to these mountains. Clad in the picturesque costumes of the villagers, with clogs on their feet, and a few possessions crowded into a bullock-wagon, they made their way slowly into Angora, dependent for food and shelter upon the picturesque, but uncomfortable, little inns on the way.
Since the victory of the Nationalists, she is free, of course, to seek her equally picturesque home in the heart of Stamboul; but, "How I love my Angora farmstead!" she cried, as her quaint peasant waiting-woman brought in coffee and cigarettes. There was proof, at least, in the countless books, papers and souvenirs from England around us that she has not forgotten her education in the American College; and, whatever her judgment of us to-day, she speaks our language without a fault.
As the eye travels over the delicately-cut features of Halidé Hanoum, the expression of sensitiveness stands out as the greatest charm of her beauty. Yet the quiet reserved manner cannot hide the force of her mind and her compelling personality. Charm, intelligence, great talent and courage, are all in her
