ludicrous spectacle of adoration. Of such was Wellington, and if the
description is somewhat detailed and technical it is because he happens
a good deal into the book.

The duchess had been put into the train for Port Said by Ben Kelham,
who, inwardly kicking at her sage advice, looked as despondent as a
camel who considers its strength unequal to its burden.

"Cheer up, lad," she cried as the train moved off. "Cheer up;
something is sure to happen before long."

Which was a perfectly safe prophecy to make where Damaris was concerned.

Arrived at Port Said, she put off in a boat with her maid and her
parrot, and found her godchild, who did not expect her, on deck,
entranced with all she saw.

Yes! of course Port Said is a sink of iniquity and a place of odours
and a fold for native wolves in sheep's clothing; also a centre for
antiquities made in Birmingham, or by the vendor himself in the hot
weather; and a market for things which should not be sold, much less
bought.

In fact, in one short sentence, it is a deal of cosmopolitan
wrong-doing.

All the same, you need not buy and you need not listen nor look, and if
it is the first bit of the Orient you have meet with for the first time
in your life, well! it is the East, and jolly exciting and interesting,
too.