"Mr. Sanders," she said, not without dignity, "you are pulling—you are making fun of me."
"Heaven forbid!" said Sanders piously, "that I should do anything so wicked."
The end of the story, so far as Miss Clinton Calbraith was concerned, was that she went to Isisi, stayed three days, and came back incoherent.
"He is not a child!" she said wildly; "he is—a—a little devil!"
"So I should say," said Sanders philosophically.
"A king? It is disgraceful! He lives in a mud hut and wears no clothes. If I'd known!"
"A child of nature," said Sanders blandly. "You didn't expect a sort of Louis Quinze, did you?"
"I don't know what I expected," she said desperately; "but it was impossible to stay—quite impossible."
"Obviously," murmured Sanders.
"Of course, I knew he would be black," she went on; "and I knew that—oh, it was too horrid!"