“Master of the Stars,” said Merytra, “we have a message for you. No, do not look at my cheek, please, the marks are not magical, only those of the divine fingers of the glorious hand of the most exalted Prince Abi, son of the Pharaoh happily ruling in Osiris, etc., etc., etc., of the right, royal blood of Egypt—that is on one side, and on the other of a divine lady whom Khem the Spirit, or Ptah the Creator, thought fit to dip in a vat of black dye.”
“Hem!” said Kaku glancing nervously over his shoulder. Then, seeing that there was no one near, he added, “you had better be careful what you say, my dear. The royal Abi does not like to hear the colour of his late mother defined so closely. But why did he slap your face?”
She told him.
“Well,” he answered, “if I had been in his place I would rather have kissed it, for it is pretty, decidedly pretty,” and this learned man forgot himself so far as to wink at Merytra.
“There, Sister,” said the girl, “I always told you that rough shells have sweet nuts inside of them. Thank you for your compliment, Master of learning. Will you tell us our fortune for nothing?”
“Yes, yes,” he answered; “at least the fee I want will cost you nothing. Now stop this nonsense,” he added, anxiously, “I gather that he is cross.”
“I never saw him crosser, Kaku. I am glad it is you who reads the stars, not I. Listen!”
As he spoke an angry roar reached them from the high deck above.
“Where is that accursed astrologer?” said the roar.
“There, what did I tell you? Oh! never mind the rest of the papers, go at once. Your robe is full of rolls as it is.”