“May I have another cigarette, Verbie?” came the honeyed accents of the Sheik Amut as, dinner finished, coffee was being served.
“Just one. Too much smoking will affect the steadiness of your hand in horse-training. I must look into the condition of the herd myself to-morrow.”
“Yes, do,” he assented. “I’m afraid I’ve been pretty slack but you know how a bachelor is—sporting around a good deal, he is likely to forget business.”
She reached for her handbag and got out a tin of candied violet leaves.
She fed him about ten which he chewed as delicately as he might—much more delicately, Verbeena noticed, than the camels chewed gum.
Verbeena was pleased.
“Under the extraordinary circumstances,” she finally stated, “and the legal steps having been duly taken and perfected, there is not in so far as I can see, any valid reason why marital relations may not with perfect propriety eventuate.”
“Allah, oh, Allah!” sobbed the Sheik softly beating his turban profusely.