"What is that?" Isabel questioned. "I never heard that story. What is the vase of Al-Mansor?"
"A legend of the days of the caliphs. If you care about it, some day I will find a copy to send."
"Some day! I want to hear it now."
"Tell us, with all the trimmings," Corrie urged, "No sliding around the flowery parts and cutting scenes, but the full performance. Flavia loves that sort of thing, too; she and I grew up on the Arabian Nights and Byron and Irving. We dramatized 'The Fall of Granada,' for the toy theatre, but Bulwer was dead, so it didn't matter.
"Perkins, up in my den you'll find a five-pound box of Turkish Delight, sent to-night from the candy shop; bring it here to help the Oriental atmosphere."
Flavia looked up, and Gerard caught her eyes, no longer quite untroubled before his own.
"What a set of comparisons to face," he deprecated. "Shall I dare it, Miss Rose?"
"Would you leave us to suffer all the pangs of unsatisfied curiosity?" she wondered. "To dream all night of elusive pearls that disappear in their vase as Cleopatra's in her goblet of vinegar?"
Mr. Rose took a cigar and a match, nodding humorously at his guest.
"You're in for it," he signified. "Better get it over."