“What?”
He gave her a look that was awful sneery.
“That’s something I’m keeping under my turban just now, Verbie. The way you go ’round here asking questions you’d think we were really married you know.”
“And are we not to be?”
“Har-har!” laughed the Sheik Amut Ben Butler.
His manner of laughter was ingrainedly and corruscatedly ironic.
“Har-har!” he laughed anew.
Evidently without even so much of the savor of intention that might take a favorable skid in the direction of the morganatic!
Again with flaring teeth—two touched with gold—he laughed:
“Har-Har!”