“Tut—tut, man! Tut—tut!” ejaculated the doctor. “Hold your whisht, as old Stuart says. I couldn’t help the thought; but it was a very unjust one I must say.”
“So purposeless,” said Chumbley. “Why should the Princess want to poison us?”
“Out of spite perhaps,” said the doctor. “I don’t think we have behaved very generously to her in reply to her appeal.”
“On the head of the Colonial Secretary be it,” said Chumbley, relapsing into his slow drawl.
“But unfortunately it does not fall upon his head,” retorted the doctor, grimly. “The Princess, disappointed in her appeal, could not reach the Colonial Secretary in London, but she could reach us.”
“And she won’t do anything of the kind, doctor,” said Chumbley, warmly. “She’s a very good sort of woman, in spite of her skin, and her party is a great success. It will be our turn to do something next.”
“What, in the shape of a feed?”
“Yes, I think so; only this hot climate seems to take all the energy out of a fellow.”
For the Princess’s party was undoubtedly a grand success, the fairy-like aspect of the scene adding immensely to the effect. The conduct of the Sultan was simply perfect; and his efforts to supplement the hostess in her endeavour to give pleasure won the encomiums of all.
As evening approached there was a little nervousness displayed by the ladies at the idea of staying late; and one and all appealed to Mrs Bolter, who immediately began metaphorically to play the part of hen, and displayed a desire to gather the whole of the ladies beneath her wings.