"Ah! and so sweet! That encamping in your own tent; preparing your own meals; having everything, as it were, within yourself. Civilized life has nothing to offer equal to that. A person who has only gone from city to city, or from steamboat to steamboat, knows nothing of oriental life. Does he, Miss Waddington?" This was intended as a blow at Bertram, who had got to Jerusalem without sleeping under canvas. "What ignorant wretches the natives must be!" said George; "for they apparently sleep as regularly in their own beds as any stupid Christian in England." "I am not sure that even Mr. M'Gabbery would admire the tents so much if he had not some Christian comforts along with him." "His brandy-flask and dressing-case, for instance," said George. "Yes; and his mattress and blankets," said Caroline. "His potted meat and preserved soup." "And especially his pot to boil his potatoes in." "That was Mr. Cruse," said Mr. M'Gabbery, quite angrily. "For myself, I do not care a bit about potatoes." "So it was, Mr. M'Gabbery; and I beg your pardon. It is Mr. Cruse whose soul is among the potatoes. But, if I remember right, it was you who were so angry when the milk ran out." Then Mr. M'Gabbery again receded, and talked to Mrs. Jones about his associations. "How thoroughly the Turks and Arabs beat us in point of costume," said Mrs. Hunter to Mr. Cruse. "It will be very hard, at any rate, for any of them to beat you," said the tutor. "Since I have been out here, I have seen no one adopt their ways with half as much grace as you do." Mrs. Hunter looked down well pleased to her ancles, which were covered, and needed to be covered, by no riding-habit. "I was not thinking so much of myself as of Mr. Hunter. Women, you know, Mr. Cruse, are nothing in this land." "Except when imported from Christendom, Mrs. Hunter." "But I was speaking of gentlemen's toilets. Don't you think the Turkish dress very becoming? I declare, I shall never bear to see Charles again in a coat and waistcoat and trousers." "Nor he you in an ordinary silk gown, puffed out with crinoline." "Well, I suppose we must live in the East altogether then. I am sure I should not object. I know one thing--I shall never endure to put a bonnet on my head again. By-the-by, Mr. Cruse, who is this Sir Lionel Bertram that has just come? Is he a baronet?" "Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort, I imagine. I don't quite know who he is; but that young man is his son." "They say he's very clever, don't they?" "He has that sort of boy's cleverness, I dare say, which goes towards taking a good degree." Mr. Cruse himself had not shone very brightly at the University. "Miss Waddington seems very much smitten with him; don't you think so?" "Miss Waddington is a beautiful girl; and variable--as beautiful girls sometimes are." "Mr. Cruse, don't be satirical."