cared to listen to him, and Sir Chetwynd had some right to his
opinions, inasmuch as he was the editor and proprietor of a large
London newspaper. His knighthood was quite a recent distinction,
and nobody knew exactly how he had managed to get it. He had
originally been known in Fleet Street by the irreverent sobriquet
of "greasy Chetwynd," owing to his largeness, oiliness and general
air of blandly-meaningless benevolence. He had a wife and two
daughters, and one of his objects in wintering at Cairo was to get
his cherished children married. It was time, for the bloom was
slightly off the fair girl-roses,--the dainty petals of the
delicate buds were beginning to wither. And Sir Chetwynd had heard
much of Cairo; he understood that there was a great deal of
liberty allowed there between men and maids,--that they went out
together on driving excursions to the Pyramids, that they rode on
lilliputian donkeys over the sand at moonlight, that they floated
about in boats at evening on the Nile, and that, in short, there
were more opportunities of marriage among the "flesh-pots of
Egypt" than in all the rush and crush of London. So here he was,
portly and comfortable, and on the whole well satisfied with his
expedition; there were a good many eligible bachelors about, and
Muriel and Dolly were really doing their best. So was their
mother, Lady Chetwynd Lyle; she allowed no "eligible" to escape
her hawk-like observation, and on this particular evening she was
in all her glory, for there was to be a costume ball at the
Gezireh Palace Hotel,--a superb affair, organized by the
proprietors for the amusement of their paying guests, who
certainly paid well,--even stiffly. Owing to the preparations that
were going on for this festivity, the lounge, with its sumptuous
Egyptian decorations and luxurious modern fittings, was well-nigh
deserted save for Sir Chetwynd and his particular group of