“That is cheering news for you, Cecil,” said Lady Haigh, laughing; “but I don’t think you’ll be frightened. Miss Anstruther knows something about naughty boys, Um Yusuf. She has four brothers at home.” “English bad boy not like Toork bad boy,” said the imperturbable Um Yusuf; “Azim Bey wicked boy, read bad books, go do bad things. My cousin in Baghdad tell me all about him.” “A boy of ten who reads bad books!” cried Lady Haigh. “I didn’t know I was bringing you to face such a monster of juvenile depravity, Cecil. These Eastern children are very precocious, I know, but I never thought of this particular form of wickedness. Well, my dear, I think you will conquer him if any one can. But now it is breakfast-time, and we are going to the bazaars afterwards with the dragoman, so we must not be late. You can go to your sister Marta, Um Yusuf, and she will show you the way about the house. She can tell you all you want to know, too, so you need not trouble to try to read Miss Anstruther’s letters.” CHAPTER V. A NEW EXPERIENCE. “There!” said Lady Haigh, “what do you think of that, Cecil?” They were sitting on the divan in a little cramped-up shop in one of the bazaars, with tiny cups of black coffee before them, and all manner of lovely fabrics--silks and muslins and brocades and gauzes--strewn around. The proprietor of the establishment, an elderly Moslem with a long beard, was exhibiting listlessly a rich, soft silk, as though it was not of the slightest consequence to him whether they bought anything or not. Leaning against the door-post was the gorgeously attired dragoman whom Mr Boleyn had ordered to attend the ladies in their shopping, and who made himself actively objectionable by insisting on explaining everything that met their eyes, regardless of the fact that Lady Haigh was an old Eastern traveller, and that Cecil had read so much about Egypt that, but for her ignorance of the language, she could have acted as cicerone in a Cairo street as well as he could. At the sound of Lady Haigh’s voice, Cecil, whose seat was nearest the street, turned with a start, for her eyes had wandered down the long dim arcade and among the many-coloured figures thronging it. “I think it will do very well,” she said, and withdrawing her eyes resolutely from the street, devoted herself to listening to the energetic bargaining carried on between her friend and the shopman with the dragoman’s assistance. It was very oriental, of course, but it spoiled the poetry of the scene, and she was glad when Lady Haigh at last rose and left the shop, after paying for the silk and directing it to be sent to the house.