It was a house where all was tidy and precise, a hostile element to one in love with the untrimmed profusion of the Pasha’s palace. She hated it as servants hate a nagging mistress.

“Now, having brought you two together, I shall leave you,” said the Consul pleasantly. “This young lady, Mrs. Cameron, has gone and got herself into a precious fix. Confess her thoroughly, and then we’ll find some way to get her out of it.”

“But I have no desire to get out of it,” cried the girl, exasperated. “The fix, as you are pleased to call it, is my greatest happiness.”

But the Consul was already gone, delighted as it seemed to wash his hands of her. She found herself alone with Mrs. Cameron.