people--old ladies--to have annuities, and many to be provided for, and
there was little chance in England for him. Good-temper and brawn
weren't enough."

"Egypt's the place for mother-wit," broke in Dicky. "He had that anyhow.
As to his unscrupulousness, of course that's as you may look at it."

"Was he always unscrupulous?" she asked. "I have thought him cruel and
wicked nationally--un-English, shamefully culpable; but a man who is
unscrupulous would do mean low things, and I should like to think that
Kingsley is a villain with good points. I believe he has them, and I
believe that deep down in him is something English and honourable after
all--something to be reckoned with, worked on, developed. See, here is a
letter I had from him two days ago"--she drew it from her pocket and
handed it over to Dicky. "I cannot think him hopeless altogether . . .
I freed the slaves who brought the letter, and sent them on to Cairo. Do
you not feel it is hopeful?" she urged, as Dicky read the letter slowly,
making sotto voce remarks meanwhile.

"Brigands and tyrants can be gallant--there are plenty of instances on
record. What are six slaves to him?"

"He has a thousand to your one," said Kingsley slowly, and as though not
realising his words.

She started, sat up straight in her chair, and looked at him indignantly.
"I have no slaves," she said.

Kingsley Bey had been watching the Circassian girl Mata, in the garden
for some time, and he had not been able to resist the temptation to make