“You seem to think everything’s nicely settled,” said Verbeena icily. “But when King and Lloyd George hear of this, they’ll put such a flea in the ear of the French Government, they’ll be after you with a hoop-la and a full set of gendarmerie armed with guillotines!”
“A pea for the French Government! And holler-woller for the Georges, King and Lloyd.”
“You seem very confident of immunity.”
SHEIK AMUT BEN BUTLER, THE TERROR OF THE SANDS.
“Of a certainty,” said the Sheik. “I’m depending on Queen Mary. She’s an awful stiff one for the proprieties, you know, and when she hears the way you defied conventions and went journeying out into the desert without so much as a chaperon, if I know Mary, she’ll say it served you jolly well right. Anyway, what’s one of those countries you speak of got to do with it?”
He gave her the point of a finger—slightly cigarette stained, but very stern.
“You forget, hussy,—I am the Sheik Amut Ben Butler. I’m the Grand Monarch, the Monseigneur of this entire sand-patch—put that in a cigarette paper and smoke it!