“Confound Helen Perowne!” muttered Hilton, bitterly.
“Just as you like; and confound the Inche Maida too—I shan’t! Sort of sympathetic pity for woman—weaker vessels, you know.”
“Weaker vessel?” laughed Hilton, scornfully; “what, our captor?”
“Well, she isn’t a bad sort of woman,” replied Chumbley.
“Not a bad sort of woman? Why, she’s a modern Jezebel—a Cleopatra—a Semiramis!”
“Think so?” said Chumbley, quietly.
“Think so? Of course! I’m getting terribly tired of this captivity! I must get away somehow. How many days have we been here?”
“Week,” said Chumbley, laconically.
“A week of weeks it seems to me,” said Hilton. “Horrible woman!”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Chumbley, “she seems to possess very great taste.”