Fitz departed on his errand in high glee, and when a decent interval had been allowed for the transformation to be effected, Sir Dugald, after a few preliminary remarks tending to impress Fath-ud-Din with a sense of the greatness of the honour about to be conferred upon him, led his guest into the inner courtyard, and up the steps to the terrace. Here, indeed, there was little sign of panic. There were books and work about, and Georgia’s sketching materials were visible in a corner. She herself had the Persian kitten, which Fitz had brought home in his pocket in the morning, asleep on her lap, while Lady Haigh was pouring out tea with a hand in which the keenest gaze could not distinguish the slightest tendency to tremble. The Vizier looked disappointed--this is putting it mildly, for the young men agreed afterwards that his expression was fiendish--but he appeared to be reflecting that the veils in which his hostesses were shrouded might be serving a useful purpose in concealing the traces of fear, for presently he turned to Sir Dugald. “Let not my lord be offended if I entreat him to inquire of his household whether terror did not seize them this morning,” he said, meekly enough. “By no means,” returned Sir Dugald, genially. “Elma, the Vizier would like to know whether you were frightened when his people were kicking up that row in the courtyard?” “Frightened?” snapped Lady Haigh. “What was there to be frightened about, I should like to know?” The measureless scorn in her eyes and voice evidently reached Fath-ud-Din in spite of the double barrier of the foreign language and the _burka_, for he swallowed his cupful of scalding coffee hastily, and it was necessary to recover him from a choking fit before he could proceed with his inquiry. “Then will my lord ask the doctor lady, who has no husband to protect her with the might of his arm and the power of his name, whether she was not terrified?” he asked. “Frightened?” returned Georgia, when the question had been put to her. “Oh dear, no! I have a revolver. I think,” she added, carelessly, after a pause to let the information she had just given sink in, “that it was only the kitten which was frightened. Poor little thing! It was in a pitiable state when I rescued it from Mr Anstruther’s coat-pocket.” “By the head of our lord the King,” burst out Fath-ud-Din, rising hurriedly, “these are no women, but fighting men!” “Isn’t it worth your while, then, to strain a point in order to gain an alliance with a nation that has such women?” asked Sir Dugald, seizing the opportunity to point a moral. “Nay, rather,” said the Vizier, retreating to the steps as he spoke, “what are we doing to admit within our borders a nation whose very women are of such a temper as this?” “I’m sure that was the sweetest compliment that the New Woman has ever received,” said Dick to Georgia, as Sir Dugald, followed by Stratford and Fitz, escorted his discomfited guest across the courtyard.