"Prince—I've dropped in to warn you. A very angry woman will be here shortly to see you."
The handsome young Persian shrugged his shoulders, and took off the jacket of the native uniform with which he embellished his talks.
"Why is she angry? All my rugs—they are what I say they are. In this town are many liars selling oriental rugs. Oriental! Ugh! In New Jersey they were made. But not my rugs. See! Only in my native country, where I was a prince of the—"
"Yes, yes. But this lady is not coming about rugs. I refer to your ex-wife."
"Ah. You are mistaken. I have never married."
"Oh, yes, you have. I know all about it. There's no need to lie. The whole story is out, and the lady's game in San Marco is queered. She thinks you told. That's why she'll be here for a chat."
"But I did not tell. Only this morning did I see her first. I could not tell—so soon. Who could I tell—so soon?"
"I know you didn't tell. But can you prove it to an agitated lady? No. You'd better close up for the evening."
"Ah, yes—you are right. I am innocent—but what does Gabrielle care for innocence? We are no longer married—still I should not want to meet her now. I will close. But first—my friend—my benefactor—could I interest you in this rug? See! Only in my native country, where—"
"Prince," said Minot, "I couldn't use a rug if you gave me one."