“Ah, you should hear Sir Dugald Haigh on that point. His sneer is positively terrific. He can only comfort himself by remembering that here, as in other cases, the critics of the East are the men who have failed in the East.”
“Better that than never to have been there at all,” said Dick. “It has struck me more than once that there is a good deal of sense in some of Egerton’s crotchets, but he destroys the effect by his way of forcing them upon people. The things he says would put any one’s back up.”
“Yes, poor Cecil’s life is spent in explaining away his blunders and apologising for them. He could do nothing without her, for she is such a favourite that she can often manage to put things right when he has muddled them. Every one wonders that she doesn’t coach him beforehand, and teach him to avoid these dreadful faux pas; but I know that she does, and that he forgets all her advice as soon as he gets excited in debate.”
“But how is it that these people are mixed up with the Kubbet-ul-Haj affair?”
“They are great friends of the Haighs, of course, and besides, Cecil’s brother is going out as the junior member of the Mission. He is a most absurd boy—always going wild about something or other—and just now he is deeply in love with Rosaline Hervey, the beautiful girl in the picture hat who was with Mrs Egerton yesterday. She is to be there to-night, and her sister, and old Mr and Mrs Anstruther, Mrs Egerton’s parents, who are anxious to see what Sir Dugald is like before confiding their boy to his care. Then there is Mr Stratford, a cousin of Dr Egerton’s and second in command of the Mission.”
“Yes, I know Stratford. We met in Kashmir one year, when he was taking his leave in India, and I saw him the other day at the Foreign Office. He is a good sort of chap.”
“You come next in rank, I suppose, and then there is the doctor.”
“Ladies first, please—or what doctor do you mean?”
“Dr Headlam, of course, the surgeon of the Mission.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. I was afraid you meant Miss Keeling.”