Nor was Mr. Ingram very lively. A young man when he has been just accepted, never is so. His happiness under the present circumstances was, no doubt, intense, but it was of a silent nature. And then the interior of the building had to be visited. To tell the truth none of the party would have cared to perform this feat had it not been for the honour of the thing. To have come from Paris, New York, or London, to the Pyramids, and then not to have visited the very tomb of Cheops, would have shown on the part of all of them an indifference to subjects of interest which would have been altogether fatal to their character as travellers. And so a party for the interior was made up. Miss Damer when she saw the aperture through which it was expected that she should descend, at once declared for staying with her mother. Miss Dawkins, however, was enthusiastic for the journey. “Persons with so very little command over their nerves might really as well stay at home,” she said to Mr. Ingram, who glowered at her dreadfully for expressing such an opinion about his Fanny. This entrance into the Pyramids is a terrible task, which should be undertaken by no lady. Those who perform it have to creep down, and then to be dragged up, through infinite dirt, foul smells, and bad air; and when they have done it, they see nothing. But they do earn the gratification of saying that they have been inside a Pyramid. “Well, I’ve done that once,” said Mr. Damer, coming out, “and I do not think that any one will catch me doing it again. I never was in such a filthy place in my life.” “Oh, Fanny! I am so glad you did not go; I am sure it is not fit for ladies,” said poor Mrs. Damer, forgetful of her friend Miss Dawkins. “I should have been ashamed of myself,” said Miss Dawkins, bristling up, and throwing back her head as she stood, “if I had allowed any consideration to have prevented my visiting such a spot. If it be not improper for men to go there, how can it be improper for women?” “I did not say improper, my dear,” said Mrs. Damer, apologetically. “And as for the fatigue, what can a woman be worth who is afraid to encounter as much as I have now gone through for the sake of visiting the last resting-place of such a king as Cheops?” And Miss Dawkins, as she pronounced the last words, looked round her with disdain upon poor Fanny Damer. “But I meant the dirt,” said Mrs. Damer. “Dirt!” ejaculated Miss Dawkins, and then walked away. Why should she now submit her high tone of feeling to the Damers, or why care longer for their good opinion? Therefore she scattered contempt around her as she ejaculated the last word, “dirt.” And then the return home! “I know I shall never get there,” said Mrs. Damer, looking piteously up into her husband’s face. “Nonsense, my dear; nonsense; you must get there.” Mrs. Damer groaned, and acknowledged in her heart that she must,--either dead or alive.