Arrived at the Residency, Cecil found Lady Haigh in an extremely perturbed state of mind. Charlie had not returned, and no notice of his approach had been received; moreover, there were rumours of troubles between the Hajar and the Fazz tribes in the very district through which he had to pass. In the course of a few hours Denarien Bey would bring the agreement to be signed, and if Charlie had not returned by that time, she would be obliged to speak to Cecil on his behalf, a prospect which filled her with nervous dread. To add to her perplexities, she had all the Christmas decorations on her hands, as well as the preparations for the Christmas Day festivities, in which she was handicapped by an undying feud which existed between such of the servants as were Hindus on one side, and Agoop Aga, the major-domo, and the natives of the country, on the other. With a vague idea of putting off the evil day, she accepted Cecil’s offer to see to the decorations and the arrangement of the _menu_ for the morrow’s dinner-party, and departed to look to the ways of her household. But this delay was of no avail, for lunch-time arrived, and no Charlie. Denarien Bey was coming at three o’clock, and with beating heart poor Lady Haigh perceived that she must speak to Cecil. There was no time to lose, and after lunch she called the girl into her boudoir and prepared to make the attempt. She knew that she could not plead Charlie’s cause with anything approaching the fervour he himself would have used; nay, she had an uneasy consciousness that if Cecil accepted him she would consider her an arrant fool for giving up her present position for his sake. But she was fond of Charlie, and sympathised with him on account of his patient waiting, and she felt herself bound by her promise to do the best she could for him. “Cecil, my dear,” she said, when she had got Cecil settled at last, after several vain attempts to reason her into a properly serious state of mind, “Denarien Bey will come with the agreement very soon.” “Yes?” said Cecil, springing up from her chair and adjusting the striped scarf which draped a portrait on the wall. “But don’t let us talk of business now, Lady Haigh. These two days are my holidays, you know, and I want to enjoy them. This is a new photograph of Sir Dugald, isn’t it?” “Oh, my dear child,” entreated Lady Haigh, “do be serious. I have something so very important to say to you. I don’t know how to say it, but I promised Charlie, and I wish I hadn’t. Do listen to me quietly.” Cecil dropped into a chair, not that in which she had been sitting before, but a low one in the shade of the curtain, and composed herself to listen, for Lady Haigh’s voice sounded as though tears were not far off.