“A most affecting history indeed,” returned Bracy, covering his mouth with his hand to conceal a smile. As for Frere, he had for some time past been nearly suffocated by suppressed laughter, which at length made itself so apparent that nothing but his beard and an assumed fit of coughing could have saved him from discovery.
While this conversation had been going on, Miss Peyton called Lady Lombard’s attention to Lewis by observing: “The interpreter, in entertaining the Prince, seems entirely to have forgotten that very handsome young attendant who stands there, looking so haughty and disconsolate.”
“Dear me! so he does,” exclaimed Lady Lombard anxiously. “How very handsome he is! such a thoroughly Eastern countenance! He’s a man of very high rank, too, over there. What could we do to amuse him?”
“Perhaps we might show him some prints,” suggested Laura; “at all events the attention might please him.”
“Oh, yes! how clever of you! I should never have thought of that now. I’ve a table covered with them in the boudoir,” exclaimed Lady Lombard delightedly; “but do you think you could turn them over for him? I’m so foolish, I should be quite nervous; you see it’s so awkward his not understanding English, poor fellow! I know I’m very foolish.”
“I shall be most happy to do anything I can to lessen your difficulties,” replied the young lady good-naturedly. “Shall I look out a book of prints?”
“If you would be so kind, my dear, you’ll find plenty in the boudoir; and I’ll go to Mr. Bracy and get him to speak to him for me.”
The result of this application was the capture of Lewis, who, inwardly raging, was carried off to the boudoir and seated at a table, while Miss Peyton, half frightened, half amused, turned over a volume of prints for his edification. Lady Lombard and sundry of the guests stood round for some minutes watching the smiles and pantomimic gestures with which Lewis, or rather Hassan Bey, as Bracy had named him, felt bound to acknowledge the young lady’s attentions.
Amongst the guests who were thus amusing themselves lounged a young dandy, who, on the strength of a Mediterranean yacht voyage, set up for a distinguished traveller. To Lady Lombard’s inquiry whether he spoke Persian he simpered, “Re’ely—no, not exactly so as to talk to him; but he’ll do vastly well. They prefer silence, re’ely, those fellows do. You know I’ve seen so much of ’em.”
“You were in Persia, were you not?” asked one of the company.