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“There’s the dear old rag!” cried Lady Haigh, in an ecstasy of mingled patriotism and affection, and Charlie Egerton took off his hat to the Union-Jack which floated over the Residency. Cecil awoke from her dream with a start. The steamer was slowing down as it approached a great house, standing at the end of a long garden, with a terrace overlooking the water, and an avenue of aged orange-trees. The flag scarcely fluttered in the light breeze, and all the garden looked dreamlike and peaceful. Only on the terrace was there a certain amount of bustle, and presently a boat put forth from the steps and shot towards the steamer. From the pomp and circumstance which characterised this embarkation, Cecil divined that the boat carried Sir Dugald Haigh, and she began to feel rather nervous. It would be idle to deny that Charlie’s conversation had infected her with a certain amount of prejudice against her Majesty’s Consul-General at Baghdad. For this very reason she had resolved to meet him with an exaggeratedly open mind, and to look very carefully for his good points. After all, Lady Haigh’s early devotion and long affection ought to weigh more than Dr Egerton’s dislike, especially since he was so notoriously addicted to disagreeing with his superiors.