“What do you call dreadful, my dear?” said the doctor, cheerily.
“That the crocodiles—”
She did not finish, but looked imploringly at her lord.
“Bah!—stuff!—nonsense! No, Mary, I don’t.”
“Then that this dreadful Rajah has carried them off?”
“If it had only been Madam Helen, I should have felt suspicious; but what could he want with Hilton and Chumbley, or with our Arthur?”
“To marry them,” suggested Mrs Bolter.
“Stuff! my dear, not he. If Murad had carried her off, he would not have bothered about a parson.”
“But Arthur was waiting about her all the evening.”
“So he was, my dear.”