the world how civilisation can be
accepted by desert races, despite a crude and cruel religion and low
standards of morality."

"All races have their social codes--what they call civilisation,"
rejoined Kingsley. "It takes a long time to get custom out of the blood,
especially when it is part of the religion. I'm afraid that expediency
isn't the motto of those who try to civilise the Orient and the East."

"I believe in struggling openly for principle," she observed a little
acidly.

"Have you succeeded?" he asked, trying to keep his gravity. "How about
your own household, for instance? Have you Christianised and civilised
your people--your niggers, and the others?"

She flushed indignantly, but held herself in control. She rang a bell.
"I have no 'niggers,'" she answered quietly. "I have some Berberine
servants, two fellah boatmen, an Egyptian gardener, an Arab cook, and a
Circassian maid. They are, I think, devoted to me."

A Berberine servant appeared. "Tea, Mahommed," she said. "And tell
Madame that Donovan Pasha is here. My cousin admires his Excellency
so much," she added to Kingsley, laughing. "I have never had any real
trouble with them," she continued with a little gesture of pride towards
the disappearing Berberine.

"There was the Armenian," put in Dicky slyly; "and the Copt sarraf. They
were no credit to their Christian religion, were they?"

"That was not the fault of the religion, but of the generations of
oppression--they lie as a child lies, to escape consequences. Had they
not been oppressed they would have been good Christians in practice as
in precept."

"They don't steal as a child steals," laughed Dicky.

"Armenians are Oriental through and through. They no more understand the
Christian religion than the Soudanese understand freedom."

He touched the right note this time. Kingsley flashed a half-startled,
half-humorous look at him; the face of the lady became set, her manner
delicately frigid. She was about to make a quiet, severe reply, but
something overcame her, and her eyes, her face, suddenly glowed. She
leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly on her knees--Kingsley could
not but note how beautiful and brown they were, capable, handsome,
confident hands--and, in a voice thrilling with feeling, said:

"What is there in the life here that gets into the eyes of Europeans
and blinds them? The United States spent scores of thousands of lives to
free the African slave. England paid mi