The morning-room in the Consular A gents house at Cairo. The windows are A rabic in character and so are the architraves of the doors, but otherwise it is an English room, airy and spacious. The furniture is lacquer and Chippendale, there are cool chintzes on the chairs and sofas, cut roses in glass vases, and growing azaleas in pots; but here and there an Eastern antiquity, a helmet and a coat of mail, a piece of woodwork, reminds one of the Mussulman conquest of Egypt; while an ancient god in porphyry, graven images in blue pottery, blue bowls, recall an older civilisation still. When the curtain rises the room is empty, the blinds are down so as to keep out the heat, and it is dim and mysterious. A SERVANT comes in, a dark-skinned native in the gorgeous uniform, red and gold, of the Consular A gents establishment, and draws the blinds. Through the windows is seen the garden with palm-trees, oranges and lemons, tropical plants with giant leaves;and beyond, the radiant blue of the sky. In the distance is heard the plaintive, guttural wailing of an Arab song. A GARDENER in a pale blue gaberdine passes with a basket on his arm.