“From Orange!” said the carrier dismounting.
“A communication for me?” asked the Sheik in his soft, mild tones.
“For you?” laughed the messenger, scornfully unloading two big bags. “You! By Allah, stand aside and don’t make the sandworms laugh! Where’s Queen Verbeena?”
“By the same Allah,” returned the Sheik with a show of spirit, “unless your business is of prime importance I would not disturb her now. She is at her daily exercise within and cares never then to be interrupted.”
“Why doesn’t she exercise with a horse?”
“Idiot, forbear lest she overhear. Besides, it’s not that sort of exercise at all. For three hours each morning she now spends her time making faces in the looking glass. For what purpose when I ask her of it, she orders me back into the open as being none of my Oriental damned business. What’s in the bags?”
“Letters—letters—thousands—all for her.”
“Yet, by Allah, it is not Valentine’s day.”
“True.”