“Well, my dear, I said that I was much obliged to Nazleh Khanum for her kind intentions, but that I intended to make your settlement in life my concern. I said that I had no doubt whatever of being able to find you a husband as soon as ever you wanted one. In fact, I repaid the Um-ul-Pasha with interest for the slight she put upon us when you first came. I had to put it in oriental style, you see, or she wouldn’t have understood it, but it makes me laugh whenever I think of it. Imagine the luckless Ovannes Effendi suddenly saddled with a London B.A. for a wife! Oh, there are those people! Let us go into the drawing-room.” The dinner-party over, a number of other people came in who had been invited to a garden-_fête_, a style of entertainment to which the grounds of the Residency were peculiarly adapted. Carpets and cushions were strewn upon the terraces, the buildings were all illuminated, and to crown all, there were two bands of music, European and native, playing against each other, so as to satisfy every taste. The evening was to close with a grand display of fireworks, and Cecil, looking for a spot whence she might obtain a good view, found Charlie Egerton by her side. “There’s a capital place here,” he said, “and just room for two. I haven’t spoken to you all day, and I’ve scarcely seen you all the evening.” “But you ought to be helping Sir Dugald to entertain the guests,” said Cecil. “But you are a guest,” he retorted, quickly, “and the rest have the fireworks to entertain them. Besides, have you no compassion for the sorrows of a poor wretch who has been trying in vain to entertain two wholly unsympathetic ladies at the same time during the whole evening, and could only approach success by making Mrs Hagopidan laugh at Madame Denarien, and Madame Denarien feel shocked at Mrs Hagopidan?” “What a very edifying conversation!” laughed Cecil. “But I saw you talking to Madame Petroffsky part of the time.” “Only for a moment, and the merest politenesses, I assure you. I can’t bear emancipated women, they are all so dreadfully alike. Now don’t take up the cudgels for them, please, Miss Anstruther. I have no doubt that Anna Ivanovna is an excellent person, but she is not my ideal. Besides, we quarrelled the last time we had an argument, and I hear that she speaks of me now as _ce lourdaud de médecin anglais_. Could a self-respecting man be expected to put up with that?” “But the other two are not like her,” said Cecil.