Such impatience was so rare with Lady Haigh that Cecil sank into an awed silence, and sentimentalised no more over the island. The second part of the voyage proved to be as safe and pleasant as the first part had been disastrous, and the captain was merciful enough to make only short halts at Bushire and Mohammerah. When Basra was reached, it was found that the services of the gunboat were not yet available, and as there was little in the town, half-busy and half-ruinous, to allure to a longer stay, Lady Haigh swallowed her pride sufficiently to let Charlie take passage for the party in one of the steamers plying to Baghdad. They were again the only passengers, and were accorded a sort of semi-royal honour which amused the two younger members of the party very much, but which seemed only natural to Lady Haigh. The river voyage was very pleasant, especially when they left behind the Shat-el-Arab, which was scarcely to be distinguished from the sea, and entered the Tigris. Villages half hidden in forests of palm, long rows of black Bedouin tents pitched in the more open spaces, and the people themselves, wild and suspicious enough, but rudely prosperous and in a way well-dressed, afforded constant interest to Cecil. Even better was the distant view of the mountains of Luristan, which was obtained about mid-way in the journey, the lofty summits covered with perpetual snow towering above the nearer expanse of feathery green and the swiftly flowing river at its foot. Cecil sat so long trying in vain to reproduce in a sketch the full effect of the contrast that she worked on into the twilight, and was forced at last to desist with a headache. Upon discovering this fact, Charlie showed himself so assiduous in moving her deck-chair about for her, and in trying to arrange her cushions more comfortably, that the sight seemed to irritate Lady Haigh. “My dear,” she said at last to Cecil, “you will never be better on deck here. You are tired out. Go to bed at once, and then you will wake up fresh and well to-morrow.” Cecil smiled an assent, and after wishing the others good night, disappeared into her cabin. Lady Haigh waited impatiently until she had been gone some little time. “Charlie,” she said at last, in a low voice, “I want to speak to you.” “Yes, Cousin Elma?” he made answer, without any suspicious show of alacrity. “What a start you gave me, though! I was thinking.” “What about?” asked Lady Haigh, sharply. Then, as his eyes involuntarily sought the direction in which Cecil had disappeared, “The usual subject, I suppose? Charlie, I always foretold that when you did fall in love you would go in very far indeed, but I didn’t guess how far it would be. This is what comes of not caring for ladies’ society.” “Exactly. One lady is enough for me,” he returned--“present company always excepted, Cousin Elma, of course. But seriously, did you ever know any one like Miss Anstruther?”