Denzil was alarmed and knew not what to think of this new feature in their affairs. Rose would not have much fortune in England; Denzil had less, and to marry on his subaltern's pay and allowances, even in India, might prove ruinous to both; but here they were isolated from all in the outer world—in Afghanistan; in a land where steam and printing were unheard of; and where forks and spoons, clocks, and even toothbrushes were as much unknown as they were to Father Adam and Mother Eve.
Shireen Khan might solve all their difficulties by slicing off Denzil's head and selling Rose to the highest bidder in Toorkistan, if the whim to do either occurred. In his alarm Denzil admitted that they were affianced to each other, a state of matters beyond the comprehension of the old Kuzzilbash, as a Mussulman in choosing a wife usually relies on his mother, or a female friend who does this office for him.
"Did your mother select her for you?" asked the Khanum, who was present.
"No," replied Denzil.
"She treats you ill, I fear; a little beating would do her good," suggested the lady.
"A beating!" exclaimed Denzil, with astonishment.
"Yes," said Shireen; "among us men are allowed by the Koran to beat their wives, so long as they do not bruise the skin; for the Prophet has ordained that women shall not be treated as intellectual beings."
"Why?"
"Lest they aspire to equality with men."
Denzil translated all this to Rose, who had been listening and turning from one speaker's face to the other; she burst into a saucy little laugh, and said,