He left the path of truth, then, desperately, with the result that Lesley commissioned him to make the proper reply to such Oriental periphrasis--something, he was to be sure, that would please the dear old thing.
Then he realised that he was hopelessly emmeshed, for, of course, Auntie Khôjee wanted a reply to her question; and it was not what she had desired, at all.
'She doesn't look a bit pleased,' remarked Lesley, de haut en bas. 'Dear me! I wish I could speak. I know I could do better than that! And I hate being dependent.'
'I wish you could,' said Jack Raymond grimly. 'I don't want to be a go-between!'
His evident ill-temper mollified her. 'Well! at any rate, you might try again, and say something else.'
So he did; and he and Aunt Khôjee had quite an animated passage, while Lateefa from his kites listened, and looked knowing.
'Well!' remarked Lesley at last, quite angrily. 'I don't see what was the use in my coming at all! You might at least give me a hint of what you are talking about! It is very rude.'
His temper went then altogether. 'If you want to know,' he said, still more grimly, 'she was asking when we are going to be married.'
Lesley gasped. 'Married!'--she echoed indignantly, yet conscious of a curious desire to smile and feel happy which must be squashed firmly--'well! if she does, Mr. Raymond, you can tell her--never!' Her dignity was tremendous.
'I have told her so three times,' replied Jack Raymond gravely, 'but she won't believe it; she says----'