should call happiness. The accidental confronting of two individuals
pleases the eye, we unite them in our imagination, carrying on the
picture before us, and suddenly we find ourselves in a quagmire of
absurd incongruities. Now what could be more laughable than to suppose
the untamed, and probably untameable young man at my side, with his
three wives, his notions about the stars and his Mussulman faith, bound
for life to a girl like Miss Westonhaugh? A wise man of the East trying
to live the life of an English country gentleman, hunting in pink and
making speeches on the local hustings! I smiled to myself in the dark
and puffed at my cigar.

Meanwhile Isaacs was palpably uneasy. First he kicked his feet free of
the stirrups, and put them back again. Then he hummed a few words of a
Persian song and let his cigar go out, after which he swore loudly in
Arabic at the eternal matches that never would light. Finally he put his
horse into a hand gallop, which could not last on such a road in the
dark, and at last he broke down completely in his efforts to do
impossible things, and began talking to me.

"You know Mr. Ghyrkins by correspondence, then?"

"Yes, and by controversy. And you, I see, know Miss Westonhaugh?"

"Yes; what do you think of her?"

"A charming creature of her type. Fair and English, she will be fat at
thirty-five, and will probably paint at forty, but at present she is
perfection--of her kind of course," I added, not wishing to engage my
friend in the defence of his three wives on the score of beauty.