“I think that, though justified in principle by the ordinary circumstances of Eastern life, there are cases in which the system acts very badly.  I think that young men are often led by sheer force of example into marrying several wives before they have sufficiently reflected on the importance of what they are doing.  I think that both marriage and divorce are too easily managed in consideration of their importance to a man’s life, and I am convinced that no civilised man of Western education, if he were to adopt Islam, would take advantage of his change of faith to marry four wives.  It is a case of theory versus practice, which I will not attempt to explain.  It may often be good in logic, but it seems to me it is very often bad in real life.”

“Yes,” said Isaacs; “there are cases——­” He stopped, and Miss Westonhaugh, who had been very busy over her work, looked quietly up, only to find that he was profoundly interested in the horses cropping the short grass, as far as the saice would let them stretch their necks, on the other side of the lawn.

“I confess,” said Miss Westonhaugh, “that my ideas about Mohammedans are chiefly the result of reading the Arabian Nights, ever so long ago.  It seems to me that they treat women as if they had no souls and no minds, and were incapable of doing anything rational if left to themselves.  It is a man’s religion.  My uncle says so too, and he ought to know.”

The conversation was meandering in a kind of vicious circle.  Both Isaacs and I were far too deeply interested in the question to care for such idle discussion.  How could this beautiful but not very intellectual English girl, with her prejudices and her clumsiness at repartee or argument, ever comprehend or handle delicately so difficult a subject?  I was disappointed in her.  Perhaps this was natural enough, considering that with two such men as we she must be entirely out of her element.  She was of the type of brilliant, healthy, northern girls, who depend more on their animal spirits and enjoyment of living for their happiness than upon any natural or acquired mental powers.  With a horse, or a tennis court, or even a ball to amuse her, she would appear at her very best; would be at ease and do the right thing.  But when called upon to sustain a conversation, such as that into which her curiosity about Isaacs had plunged her, she did not know what to do.  She was constrained, and even some of her native grace of manner forsook her.  Why did she avoid his eyes and resort to such a petty little trick as threading a needle in order to get a look at him?  An American girl, or a French woman, would have seen that her strength lay in perfect frankness; that Isaacs’ straightforward nature would make him tell her unhesitatingly anything she wanted to know about himself, and that her position was strong enough for her to look him in the face and ask him what she pleased.  But she allowed herself to be embarrassed, and though she had been really