"I am glad to hear it," said the Professor, in his most unpleasant tone. "Where is your dining-room?"
"Why, I rather think," said Horace, helplessly, as he saw a train of attendants laying a round cloth on the floor, "I rather think this is the dining-room."
"You appear to be in some doubt?" said the Professor.
"I leave it to them—it depends where they choose to lay the cloth," said Horace. "Sometimes in one place; sometimes in another. There's a great charm in uncertainty," he faltered.
"Doubtless," said the Professor.
By this time two of the slaves, under the direction of a tall and turbaned black, had set a low ebony stool, inlaid with silver and tortoiseshell in strange devices, on the round carpet, when other attendants followed with a circular silver tray containing covered dishes, which they placed on the stool and salaamed.
"Your—ah—groom of the chambers," said the Professor, "seems to have decided that we should dine here. I observe they are making signs to you that the food is on the table."
"So it is," said Ventimore. "Shall we sit down?"
"But, my dear Horace," said Mrs. Futvoye, "your butler has forgotten the chairs."
"You don't appear to realise, my dear," said the Professor, "that in such an interior as this chairs would be hopelessly incongruous."