"Is this a usual feature in Miss Tinkla's entertainments, may I ask?" said Mrs. Futvoye, bristling with not unnatural indignation.
"I really don't know," said the unhappy Horace; "I can't make out what she's saying."
"If I understand her rightly," said the Professor, "she is addressing you as the 'light of her eyes and the vital spirit of her heart.'"
"Oh!" said Horace, "she's quite mistaken, you know. It—it's the emotional artist temperament—they don't mean anything by it. My—my dear young lady," he added, "you've danced most delightfully, and I'm sure we're all most deeply indebted to you; but we won't detain you any longer. Professor," he added, as she made no offer to rise, "will you kindly explain to them in Arabic that I should be obliged by their going at once?"
The Professor said a few words, which had the desired effect. The girl gave a little scream and scudded through the archway, and the musicians seized their instruments and scuttled after her.
"I am so sorry," said Horace, whose evening seemed to him to have been chiefly spent in apologies; "it's not at all the kind of entertainment one would expect from a place like Whiteley's."
"By no means," agreed the Professor; "but I understood you to say Miss Tinkla was recommended to you by Harrod's?"
"Very likely, sir," said Horace; "but that doesn't affect the case. I shouldn't expect it from them."
"Probably they don't know how shamelessly that young person conducts herself," said Mrs. Futvoye. "And I think it only right that they should be told."
"I shall complain, of course," said Horace. "I shall put it very strongly."