“When there’s hope for Egypt, I’ll have lost my situation, and there’ll be reason for drawing a long face,” said Dicky, and got the two at such an angle that he could watch them to advantage. “I thrive while it’s opera boufe. Give us the legitimate drama, and I go with Ismail.” The lady shrank a little. “If it weren’t you, Donovan Pasha, I should say that, associated with Ismail, as you are, you are as criminal as he.” “What is crime in one country, is virtue in another,” answered Dicky. “I clamp the wheel sometimes to keep it from spinning too fast. That’s my only duty. I am neither Don Quixote nor Alexander Imperator.” She thought he was referring obliquely to the corvee and the other thing in which her life-work was involved. She became severe. “It is compromising with evil,” she said. “No. It’s getting a breakfast-roll instead of the whole bakery,” he answered. “What do you think?” she exclaimed, turning to Kingsley. “I think there’s one man in Egypt who keeps the boiler from bursting,” he answered. “Oh, don’t think I undervalue his Excellency here,” she said with a little laugh. “It is because he is strong, because he matters so much, that one feels he could do more. Ismail thinks there is no one like him in the world.” “Except Gordon,” interrupted Kingsley. “Except Gordon, of course; only Gordon isn’t in Egypt. And he would do no good in Egypt. The officials would block his way. It is only in the Soudan that he could have a free hand, be of real use. There, a man, a real man, like Gordon, could show the world how civilisation can be accepted by desert races, despite a crude and cruel religion and low standards of morality.” “All races have their social codes--what they call civilisation,” rejoined Kingsley. “It takes a long time to get custom out of the blood, especially when it is part of the religion. I’m afraid that expediency isn’t the motto of those who try to civilise the Orient and the East.” “I believe in struggling openly for principle,” she observed a little acidly. “Have you succeeded?” he asked, trying to keep his gravity. “How about your own household, for instance? Have you Christianised and civilised your people--your niggers, and the others?” She flushed indignantly, but held herself in control. She rang a bell. “I have no ‘niggers,’” she answered quietly. “I have some Berberine servants, two fellah boatmen, an Egyptian gardener, an Arab cook, and a Circassian maid. They are, I think, devoted to me.” A Berberine servant appeared. “Tea, Mahommed,” she said. “And tell Madame that Donovan Pasha is here. My cousin admires his Excellency so much,” she added to Kingsley, laughing. “I have never had any real trouble with them,” she continued with a little gesture of pride towards the disappearing Berberine. “There was the Armenian,” put in Dicky slyly; “and the Copt sarraf. They were no credit to their Christian religion, were they?”