Kaffar.

Five years prior to the time of which I am writing I had been engaged in
a work that required a knowledge of the Arabic language, and although it
cannot be said I had become anything like proficient in that tongue, I
had been taught by an Arabian, and could enter into ordinary
conversation. Thus I understood the Egyptian's reply.

"With regard to Miss Forrest," he said, "I answer not in the language
which every one here knows. Miss Forrest must be yours, and that for
several reasons. She is a flower in herself. She is an orphan. She has a
large fortune. She has absolute control over it. She has a fine house in
England's capital. She has a large estate and a grand country mansion in
the south of this country. Win her, Herod Voltaire, and you can be a
little king, and I your prime minister. We heard much about her before
we came; but we did not think to find such a queen. Win her, man, and
our fortunes are made."

This was said quickly, and with all the fervour of an Eastern.

"Yes, Kaffar. It would be well if it could be done. To be an English
gentleman, with an _entree_ into the best English society, is what I
have long longed for. It will not only satisfy my taste, but give me
power, and power is what I must have. It is by good luck we are here,
but neither of us have the means to pass as English aristocrats very
long. As you say, something must be done, and, upon my honour, I have
very nearly fallen in love with her. But she must be won, and won
fairly. She is evidently strong and determined, and can be forced to do
nothing."