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“If you ask me,” said Lady Haigh, “I think it is a very good thing, for your own sake, that you have now two years in which to show Cecil that you really are in earnest. She has always taken life very seriously, so that you are rather a new experience to her, you see; but I think she is beginning to understand you better, if that is any comfort to you.”

“Thanks awfully, Cousin Elma. I know it’s all my own fault. You mustn’t think I want to reflect on her. She’s unique, but she’s absolutely perfect.”

“Oh, Charlie, Charlie, you are a sad fellow!” cried Lady Haigh. “Now, good night.”

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“My last day of this!” said Charlie to himself the next morning, as he went on deck. It was a sad thought, and he tried hard to be duly miserable, but the morning was so fine and the air so clear that he could not help whistling, in a sort of sympathy with nature; and then Cecil came on deck, looking as bright and fresh as the day, her headache all gone, and it became his duty to invite her to join him in a promenade, since the morning was a little chilly. It was impossible to feel melancholy long under such circumstances, and he soon found himself rattling away in his usual style, and predicting all kinds of delightful times at Baghdad. Lady Haigh, having once declared her pleasure, had perfect confidence in Charlie’s sense of honour, and was even a little sorry for him, and therefore she did not declare that she and Cecil were busy, and send him off to talk to the captain, a perverse habit which she had developed of late, but allowed him to remain beside her, and instruct Cecil in the habits and folk-lore of the wild tribes on the river-banks. Thus the day passed pleasantly until, towards evening, Cecil, who was looking ahead, uttered a cry of delight as the steamer swung round a bend in the river. Before them lay Baghdad, bathed in the sunset light, which brought out in all their brilliance the green and turquoise hues of the tiles with which the domes of the mosques were inlaid, and the gilded casing of the minarets; while other buildings, ordinarily most prosaic and unlovely, looked mysterious and beautiful rising from the sea of foliage which everywhere surrounded them. Palm, orange, and pomegranate trees filled the gardens which spread over the flat country as far as eye could reach, and even the ruined walls of the city, emerging here and there from the expanse of green, lost their meanness and looked imposing.