“It isn’t a laughing matter to me,” said Cecil, dolefully.
“No, nor to poor Egerton either,” said Sir Dugald. “It was a most happy thing that he thought of writing to you under cover to me, or we might never have found out how the trick was worked. You see they have simply suppressed all Egerton’s letters to you, and all yours directed to him. Your home letters have arrived as usual, have they not? I thought so. Well, suppose you set Egerton’s mind at rest by telegraphing him a Christmas message at once. I think I can guarantee that it won’t go astray from here.”
Cecil accepted gratefully Sir Dugald’s suggestion, and despatched a sufficiently lengthy message. This done, she had leisure to think over the strange fate of her letters. She could not doubt that their disappearance had been arranged by the same hand that had contrived Charlie’s removal from Baghdad, and yet it seemed scarcely likely that Azim Bey would have thought of such a thing. Charlie’s suggestion as to M. Karalampi she scouted at once, for what motive could he have for abstracting her letters, even though he had an old grudge against her, and no liking for Charlie? But M. Karalampi was destined to be brought to her mind once again that evening, when she went to have tea with Mrs Hagopidan, of whom she had seen but little of late.
“So I hear you have set up another admirer, Cecil?” said the hostess, when she had inquired and heard the latest news from Whitcliffe.
“I don’t know what you mean, Myrta,” said Cecil, laughing.
“My dear girl, you must have noticed that M. Karalampi does you the honour to admire you. Of course it’s impossible that you could have the bad taste not to admire him.”
“I think you forget that I am engaged,” said Cecil, in her stateliest manner.
“Not at all, dear, nor does he. He only thinks that it is a merciful dispensation of Providence which has removed Dr Egerton from Baghdad and left the way clear for him. They didn’t love each other, those two. Really, Cecil, I could have danced at times to see Dr Egerton freeze him with a look, and to behold the murderous glances M. Karalampi bestowed upon him behind his back. He daren’t have looked at you then,--it would have been as much as his life was worth,--but now he has a fair field. How do you like him, dear?”