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Isabel impatiently dismissed the well-meant offer and, without further ado, she marched up the stairs and entered the study.

Burton was slumped in his saddlebag armchair by the fire, wrapped in his jubbah, smoking one of his disreputable cheroots and staring into the room's thick blue haze of tobacco smoke. He'd been there since his return from Downing Street an hour ago and had barely moved a muscle. His mind was far away and he was completely unaware that Isabel had entered.

"For goodness' sake, Dick," she chided, "I've stepped out of one fog and into another! If you must be-"

She stopped, gasped, and raised her gloved hands to her mouth, for she'd noticed that a yellowing bruise curved around one of his eyes, a livid and much darker one marked his left temple, there were scratches and grazes all over his face, and he looked somewhat as if the Charge of the Light Brigade had galloped over him.

"What-what-what-?" she stuttered.

His eyes turned slowly toward her and she saw his pupils shrink into focus.

"Ah," he said, and stood. "Isabel, my apologies-I forgot you were coming."

"Your face, Dick!" she exclaimed, and she suddenly flung herself into his arms. "Your face! What on earth has happened!"

He kissed her forehead and stepped back, holding her at arm's length.

"Everything, Isabel. Everything has happened. My life seems to have changed in an instant! I have been commissioned by the king himselfl"

"The king? Commissioned? Dick, I don't understand. And why are you bruised and cut so?"

"Sit down. I'll endeavour to explain. But, Isabel, you must prepare yourself. Remember the Arabic proverb I taught you: In lam yakhun ma tureed, fa'ariid ma yakhoon. "

She translated: "`When what you want doesn't happen, learn to want what does."'

She sat and frowned and waited while he went to the bureau and poured her a tonic. He returned and handed her the glass but remained standing. His expression was unreadable.

"The Foreign Office was going to offer me a consulship in Fernando Po-" he began.

She interrupted, "Yes, I have sent many a letter to Lord Russell recommending you for just such a post. Though I requested Damascus."

"You did what?" he muttered in surprise. "You thought it acceptable to write to Lord Russell on my behalf without first consulting with me?"

"Don't be bullish, Dick. We've spoken about a consulship often. But, pray, tell me what happened to you!"

"In due course. And I should say there is a great difference between a conversation shared between us and a begging letter sent to a government minister."

"It was hardly that!" she cried.

"Be that as it may, you should neither speak nor write on my behalf unless expressly asked by me to do so."

"I was trying to help you!"

"And in doing so made it appear that I lacked the wherewithal to forward my own career. By myself perhaps I could have secured Damascus. As it is, your intervention earned me an invitation to Fernando Po. They offered me a governmental crumb when I wanted a governmental loaf. Do you know where Fernando Po is?"

"No," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. This visit wasn't going at all as she had planned.

"It's a Spanish island off the west coast of Africa; an insignificant, diseaseridden fleapit, widely regarded as `the white man's graveyard.' A man who is made consul of Fernando Po is a man the Foreign Office wants out of the way. The fact that Lord Russell suggested it for me means only one thing: I have irritated him. Except, of course, I haven't. In fact, I've had no contact with him at all."

"It was me! It's my fault! Oh, I'm so sorry, Dick-I wanted only the best for you!"

"And achieved the worst," he noted, ruthlessly.

Isabel hid her face in her hands and wept.

"Isabel," said Burton softly, "when the king honoured me with a knighthood, I thought my future was secured-our future. Then came John's betrayal. Why he did it, I know not. He'd been a younger brother to me, but he was weak and allowed himself to be manipulated by a malignant force. I'd striven like