The floor was covered with a rich soft pile, and low divans were heaped with cushions of deep-tinted silk and gold.

On the floor, in a corner which seemed the favourite resting-place of my host, lay open two or three superbly illuminated Arabic manuscripts, and from a chafing dish of silver near by a thin thread of snow-white smoke sent up its faint perfume through the still air.

To find myself transported from the conventionalities of a stiff and starched Anglo-Indian hotel to such a scene was something novel and delicious in the extreme.

No wonder I stood speechless and amazed.

Mr.Isaacs remained near the door while I breathed in the strange sights to which he had introduced me.