When he ceased, the Diwân raised his head slowly, and George felt an odd thrill at his first sight at those luminous dark eyes; a thrill which continued as, at a sign from the old man, the court rhetorician standing surcharged with eloquence at the Diwân's right hand, burst into a stream of polished Persian periods which, hitting the keynote of the empty pavilion, roused a murmurous echo in its arcades. It reminded George of the general confession in his father's church on a week-day when the choir was absent; one certain note followed by faint efforts after repentance. The fancy, indeed, clung closer to facts than his ignorance of the language allowed him to perceive, as the speech dealt chiefly in regrets for the untoward events in the past which had made it incumbent on '_Gee Uff Keene sahib bahâdur_' to languish in the wilderness of Hodinuggur, though doubtless the presence of the said '_Gee Uff Keene sahib bahâdur_' would cause that desert to blossom like a rose, despite the want of water. These reiterations of his own name made George feel a sense of unknown responsibility, as of a baby at its own christening. He looked anxiously at Dan, his sponsor, but the latter was now conversing with the Diwân in the usual explosive sentences followed by the decorous silences due to dignity, while the attendants brought forward divers round brass trays covered with Manchester pocket-handkerchiefs and laid them at the visitors' feet. George's share consisted of three, one containing dried fruits and sugar, one of various rich cloths topped by a coarse white muslin _pugree_, the third conglomerate. A French clock, with Venus Anadyomene in alabaster, some pantomime jewelry, a green glass tumbler, a tin of preserved beetroot, a lacquered tray with the motto 'for a good boy,' and various other odds and ends. Among them a small blue earthenware pot. Was it blue after all, or did a gold shimmer suggest a pattern beneath the glaze? A queer, quaint shape, dumpy, yet graceful. That broad, straight ring around it should have marred its curves but failed to do so; strange! how these people had the knack of running counter to recognised rules, and yet---- Here George was recalled to the present by Dan whispering-- 'Take it, man! Take it!' Looking round he saw the latter removing something from a tray, and his own head being full of the blue pot, his hand naturally went out towards it. 'No! no!' continued Dan, in the same voice, 'the _pugree_.' 'But I've got one already!' The instinctive greed of the reply made his companion smile as he explained that the _pugree_ was put there on purpose. But, as he spoke, the Diwân signed to an attendant who stepping forward, transferred the blue pot to the tray of dried fruits. 'It is nothing,' came the courteous voice, setting aside all disclaimers; 'our potter makes them.'