“No, I do not onnerstan’—no, but lissen, I beg, I pray—you mus’ hide me, Honable Tonee, you mus’ hide me fas’ before he come to keel us both.”
“Hide you?” The Honourable Tony yielded to unregenerate mirth above the terrified murmurs of protest. “My dear Potts, you might precisely as well ask a thimble to hide a perfume factory! Actually, you know, when I was clean over there by the door, it fairly bowled me off my feet.”
“Hush—oh, hush—eet ees my pairfume?”
“It is indeed—it most emphatically is.”
“You could know eet from that door?”
“I could know it from the far edge of the kampong.”
“Then they fin’ me—then, oh, they fin’ me!”
At the sick terror of that small wail the Honourable Tony stirred.
“I say, you’re not really frightened, are you?”
“I am vairy frighten’ to die,” his visitor told him simply. “You are not?”