Miss Damer when she saw the aperture through which it was expected that she should descend, at once declared for staying with her mother. Miss Dawkins, however, was enthusiastic for the journey. “Persons with so very little command over their nerves might really as well stay at home,” she said to Mr. Ingram, who glowered at her dreadfully for expressing such an opinion about his Fanny.
This entrance into the Pyramids is a terrible task, which should be undertaken by no lady. Those who perform it have to creep down, and then to be dragged up, through infinite dirt, foul smells, and bad air; and when they have done it, they see nothing. But they do earn the gratification of saying that they have been inside a Pyramid.
“Well, I’ve done that once,” said Mr. Damer, coming out, “and I do not think that anyone will catch me doing it again. I never was in such a filthy place in my life.”
“Oh, Fanny! I am so glad you did not go; I am sure it is not fit for ladies,” said poor Mrs. Damer, forgetful of her friend Miss Dawkins.
“I should have been ashamed of myself,” said Miss Dawkins, bristling up, and throwing back her head as she stood, “if I had allowed any consideration to have prevented my visiting such a spot. If it be not improper for men to go there, how can it be improper for women?”
“I did not say improper, my dear,” said Mrs. Damer, apologetically.
“And as for the fatigue, what can a woman be worth who is afraid to encounter as much as I have now gone through for the sake of visiting the last resting-place of such a king as Cheops?” And Miss Dawkins, as she pronounced the last words, looked round her with disdain upon poor Fanny Damer.
“But I meant the dirt,” said Mrs. Damer.
“Dirt!” ejaculated Miss Dawkins, and then walked away. Why should she now submit her high tone of feeling to the Damers, or why care longer for their good opinion? Therefore she scattered contempt around her as she ejaculated the last word, “dirt.”
And then the return home! “I know I shall never get there,” said Mrs. Damer, looking piteously up into her husband’s face.
“Nonsense, my dear; nonsense; you must get there.” Mrs. Damer groaned, and acknowledged in her heart that she must—either dead or alive.
“And, Jefferson,” said Fanny, whispering—for there had been a moment since their descent in which she had been instructed to call him by his Christian name—“never mind talking to me going home. I will ride by mamma. Do you go with papa and put him in good humour; and if he says anything about the lords and the bishops, don’t you contradict him, you know.”
What will not a man do for love? Mr. Ingram promised. And in this way they started; the two boys led the van; then came Mr. Damer and Mr. Ingram, unusually and unpatriotically acquiescent as to England’s aristocratic propensities; then Miss Dawkins riding, alas! alone; after her, M. Delabordeau, also alone—the ungallant Frenchman! And the rear was brought up by Mrs. Damer and her daughter, flanked on each side by a dragoman, with a third dragoman behind them.
And in this order they went back to Cairo, riding their donkeys, and crossing the ferry solemnly, and, for the most part, silently. Mr. Ingram did talk, as he had an important object in view—that of putting Mr. Damer into a good humour.
In this he succeeded so well that by the time they had remounted, after crossing the Nile, Mr. Damer opened his heart to his companion on the subject that was troubling him, and told him all about Miss Dawkins.
“I don’t see why we should have a companion that we don’t like for eight or ten weeks, merely because it seems rude to refuse a lady.”
“Indeed, I agree with you,” said Mr. Ingram; “I should call it weak-minded to give way in such a case.”
“My daughter does not like her at all,” continued Mr. Damer.
“Nor would she be a nice companion for Miss Damer; not according to my way of thinking,” said Mr. Ingram.
“And as to my having asked her, or Mrs. Damer having asked her! Why, God bless my soul, it is pure invention on the woman’s part!”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Ingrain; “I must say she plays her game well; but then she is an old soldier, and has the benefit of experience.” What would Miss Dawkins have said had she known that Mr. Ingram called her an old soldier?
“I don’t like the kind of thing at all,” said Mr. Damer, who was very serious upon the subject. “You see the position in which I am placed. I am forced to be very rude, or—”
“I don’t call it rude at all.”
“Disobliging, then; or else I must have all my comfort invaded and pleasure destroyed by, by, by—” And Mr. Damer paused, being at a loss for an appropriate name for Miss Dawkins.
“By an unprotected female,” suggested Mr. Ingram.
“Yes, just so. I am as fond of pleasant company as anybody; but then I like to choose it myself.”
“So do I,” said Mr. Ingram, thinking of his own choice.
“Now, Ingram, if you would join us, we should be delighted.”
“Upon my word, sir, the offer is too flattering,” said Ingram, hesitatingly; for he felt that he could not undertake such a journey until Mr. Damer knew on what terms he stood with Fanny.
“You are a terrible democrat,” said Mr. Damer, laughing; “but then, on that matter, you know, we could agree to differ.”
“Exactly so,” said Mr. Ingram, who had not collected his thoughts or made up his mind as to what he had better say and do, on the spur of the moment.
“Well, what do you say to it?” said
