“Caffé-house, ladies,” said the dragoman, when they had gone on a little farther; and Cecil looked with much interest and curiosity at the building he pointed out. It was a large, low room, with one side open to the street, crowded with men sitting on the divans and smoking, or drinking coffee out of cups which stood beside them on little low tables. The group was a motley one, and Cecil, as soon as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, began to try and make out by their costume the nationality of the different items that composed it. Following the sound of a loud distinct voice speaking in some unknown tongue, her gaze reached the speaker, and she saw to her amazement that he was a European, or at any rate a sunburnt, dark-haired young man in ordinary English dress. Lady Haigh’s eyes followed hers, and seemed to make the same discovery at the same moment, for their owner recoiled suddenly, and, seizing Cecil’s arm, led her away. “Storree-teller tell tale, ladies,” remarked the dragoman, but Lady Haigh appeared to be stifling irresistible laughter, and Cecil wondered whether the story-teller were an oriental Mark Twain. “I know that boy will be the death of me!” cried Lady Haigh, finding her voice at last. “My dear, it’s Charlie!” “Charlie? Dr Egerton, your cousin?” gasped Cecil. “The same, my dear. This is one of his freaks. You know I told you how fond he is of mixing with the natives wherever he goes. Now I daresay he has been a week in Cairo without ever letting Helena and her husband know he was here, staying in some wretched little native inn, and prowling about the bazaars all day.” Cecil’s private thought was that Dr Egerton’s tastes in the matter of hotel accommodation must be peculiar, though she herself acknowledged the fascination of the bazaars; but she had not time to make any remark on the subject, for they heard some one running after them, and turning, beheld the coffee-house hero himself. “Cousin Elma!” he cried, shaking hands with her, “I am so dreadfully ashamed not to have known you. I had a dim idea that there were some English ladies there, looking into the room, but I didn’t in the least know who it was until a Baghdadi, who happened to be among the audience, said--I mean, told me you were there.” “Oh, don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings, my dear boy. I know he said, ‘O my Effendi, behold the Mother of Teeth,’ now didn’t he?” and Lady Haigh laughed long and heartily. “You are cruelly hard on my poor little attempts at politeness, Cousin Elma. You will give your friend an awful idea of me. Oh, by the bye,” with intense eagerness, “what have you done with the old lady? Is she at Cousin Helena’s? How do they get on together?” “My dear Charlie, what old lady? I have not the faintest idea whom you mean.” “Why, the lady graduate, the instructress of youth, Mentor in a pith helmet and spectacles, the new female Lycurgus,--his Excellency’s English governess?”