"Ah, well—some day, some day."
A native servant announced dinner, and Sir Douglas gave Mona his arm.
"What! another scene from the 'Arabian Nights'?" she said as they entered the dining-room. "It is clear that a very wonderful genius presides over your household."
"You are going to have an Indian dinner, too," said Lady Munro. "Nubboo makes all the entrées and soups and sauces. He is worth half-a-dozen English servants."
Mona looked up at the dark bearded face under the voluminous white turban, but she could not tell whether Nubboo had heard the remark. All the philosophy of Buddh might lie behind those sad impenetrable eyes, or he might be thinking merely of the entrées; it was impossible to say. If the whole occasion had not seemed to her, as she said, a bit out of the 'Arabian Nights,' she would have thought it sacrilege that a man with such a face should be employed in so trivial an occupation as waiting at table.
"When I look at Nubboo I can almost believe myself a baby again," she said. "He seems like a bit of my dream-world."
The feeblest ghost of a smile flitted across the man's face, as he moved noiselessly from place to place.
"It must be a dream-world," laughed her aunt. "You cannot remember much of that!"
"I don't;" and Mona sighed.
Lady Munro and Mona kept the ball going between them during dinner. Evelyn only spoke now and then, to tone down one of her mother's most piquant and highly coloured remarks; and she did this with a hidden sense of humour which never rose to the surface in her face. Sir Douglas spoke as much as courtesy absolutely demanded, but no more. The new beetle was evidently perplexing him profoundly.