organized by the proprietors for the amusement of their paying guests, who certainly paid well,--even stiffly. Owing to the preparations that were going on for this festivity, the lounge, with its sumptuous Egyptian decorations and luxurious modern fittings, was well-nigh deserted save for Sir Chetwynd and his particular group of friends, to whom he was holding forth, between slow cigar-puffs, on the squalor of the Arabs, the frightful thievery of the Sheiks, the incompetency of his own special dragoman, and the mistake people made in thinking the Egyptians themselves a fine race. “They are tall, certainly,” said Sir Chetwynd, surveying his paunch, which lolled comfortably, and as it were by itself, in front of him, like a kind of waistcoated air-balloon. “I grant you they are tall. That is, the majority of them are. But I have seen short men among them. The Khedive is not taller than I am. And the Egyptian face is very deceptive. The features are often fine,--occasionally classic,--but intelligent expression is totally lacking.” Here Sir Chetwynd waved his cigar descriptively, as though he would fain suggest that a heavy jaw, a fat nose with a pimple at the end, and a gross mouth with black teeth inside it, which were special points in his own physiognomy, went further to make up “intelligent expression” than any well-moulded, straight, Eastern type of sun-browned countenance ever seen or imagined. “Well, I don’t quite agree with you there,” said a man who was lying full length on one of the divans close by and smoking. “These brown chaps have deuced fine eyes. There doesn’t seem to be any lack of expression in them. And that reminds me, there is a fellow arrived here to-day who looks for all the world like an Egyptian, of the best form. He is a Frenchman, though; a Provençal,--every one knows him,--he is the famous painter, Armand Gervase.” “Indeed!”--and Sir Chetwynd roused himself at the name--“Armand Gervase! _The_ Armand Gervase?” “The only one original,” laughed the other. “He’s come here to make studies of Eastern women. A rare old time he’ll have among them, I daresay! He’s not famous for character. He ought to paint the Princess Ziska.” “Ah, by-the-bye, I wanted to ask you about that lady. Does anyone know who she is? My wife is very anxious to find out whether she is--well--er--quite the proper person, you know! When one has young girls, one cannot be too careful.”