“Why not?” said Cecil. “Come, Bey, here is this new book on Ethics. We will read it together, and I will set you questions on each chapter.” “I am lazy this morning, mademoiselle, I do not want to work. That _fête_ yesterday was so unutterably tiresome that I went to sleep. I know I did, because the gold-lace on the sleeve of Said Bey’s uniform left a mark upon my face. When I was there, I longed to be in this room reading, yet now that my desire is granted, I don’t wish to read.” “There is not much use in reading only when you care to do it,” said Cecil, severely. “It will be a useful mental discipline for you to do a good morning’s work.” “Do you think that kind of discipline is good, mademoiselle?--doing things one does not like, I mean. Because, if it is, one ought to see that other people have plenty of it.” “They will generally have plenty of it without your providing it for them,” said Cecil, sighing to think how much discipline of the kind her pupil had provided for her already. “You had much better try to make people happier, and leave such discipline alone, except in your own case.” Azim Bey shook his head. “That would not suit me, mademoiselle. For me, I wish to make people better, and I consider myself peculiarly fitted to see that they undergo the necessary discipline.” “I consider you peculiarly conceited,” said Cecil, “and I am afraid a great deal of mental discipline will be needed in your case, Bey. But we are wasting time in this discussion. Let us begin.” Azim Bey took the book and settled down to a quarter of an hour’s steady reading, then looked up, yawned, and showed a disposition to enter on an argument with regard to a point which he and Cecil had often discussed before. Cecil declined rather sharply to begin a fresh controversy, and her pupil returned to his book, only to leave it again in a minute or two. Thus things went on all the morning, affording practical proof that yesterday’s dissipation had not agreed with Azim Bey; and it was the same in the afternoon, when it was time to go to the Howard Whites’. The house they had occupied was already beginning to look dismantled, but the little drawing-room in which the hostess received her guests was still gay with native embroideries and decorated with quaint pieces of pottery and odds and ends of Assyrian sculpture. The usual sitting-room, however, was the vine-shaded terrace, and here Mrs Howard White retired with Cecil, despatching Azim Bey to the study to enjoy himself.