Sir Dugald Haigh was the Balio Bey, the word being a corruption of bailo, the title of the Venetian Ambassador to the Porte in the middle ages, and the name spoke volumes to every inhabitant of Baghdad, so that Azim Bey submitted to the correction meekly. As he had prophesied, Cecil heard from Lady Haigh a full account of her interview with the Um-ul-Pasha when they next met, on the occasion of Queen Victoria’s birthday, which fell close after Bairam that year, and on which all the English in the region kept holiday. Cecil spent the day at the Residency, as it had been carefully specified in her agreement with the Pasha that she should do, and she did not feel at all averse from a short return to civilised dress and English society. Lady Haigh told her the story in the evening, when they had a few minutes to spare before the arrival of the guests for the dinner-party which was de rigueur on the occasion.
“I have simply laughed over it ever since, my dear,” said Lady Haigh; “but I must tell it you quickly, or these people will be coming. Put in plain language, the Um-ul-Pasha is willing to give you a handsome outfit and dowry if you marry at once, just as if you were one of her own favourite attendants.”
“And was any particular gentleman indicated?” asked Cecil.
“Certainly; it is Ovannes Effendi, the Pasha’s secretary. Nazleh Khanum put the case very plainly from her own point of view. She said that you had evidently failed to get married in your own country, or you would not have come out here, and that you were wretchedly thin, and had no idea of improving either your eyes or your complexion. As for Ovannes Effendi, she said that he was in a good position, and would make a kind husband. He was also a Christian—she laid great stress upon that point of suitability—and could be trusted to marry thankfully any lady the Um-ul-Pasha might be pleased to recommend to him.”
“And what did you say?” asked Cecil, laughing.
“Well, my dear, I said that I was much obliged to Nazleh Khanum for her kind intentions, but that I intended to make your settlement in life my concern. I said that I had no doubt whatever of being able to find you a husband as soon as ever you wanted one. In fact, I repaid the Um-ul-Pasha with interest for the slight she put upon us when you first came. I had to put it in oriental style, you see, or she wouldn’t have understood it, but it makes me laugh whenever I think of it. Imagine the luckless Ovannes Effendi suddenly saddled with a London B.A. for a wife! Oh, there are those people! Let us go into the drawing-room.”
The dinner-party over, a number of other people came in who had been invited to a garden-fête, a style of entertainment to which the grounds of the Residency were peculiarly adapted. Carpets and cushions were strewn upon the terraces, the buildings were all illuminated, and to crown all, there were two bands of music, European and native, playing against each other, so as to satisfy every taste. The evening was to close with a grand display of fireworks, and Cecil, looking for a spot whence she might obtain a good view, found Charlie Egerton by her side.
“There’s a capital place here,” he said, “and just room for two. I haven’t spoken to you all day, and I’ve scarcely seen you all the evening.”
“But you ought to be helping Sir Dugald to entertain the guests,” said Cecil.
“But you are a guest,” he retorted, quickly, “and the rest have the fireworks to entertain them. Besides, have you no compassion for the sorrows of a poor wretch who has been trying in vain to entertain two wholly unsympathetic ladies at the same time during the whole evening, and could only approach success by making Mrs Hagopidan laugh at Madame Denarien, and Madame Denarien feel shocked at Mrs Hagopidan?”