"What things?" I asked, drawing back in hurt surprise.
"H-harems!" she uttered in a blushing whisper, but Guilford caught the word and squared his shoulders importantly.
"But, I say, Grace," he interrupted, his face showing that mixture of anger and pleased vanity which a man always shows when you tell him that he's a dangerous tyrant, or a bold Don Juan—or both. "You don't think I'm a Turk—do you?"
"I do."
He sighed wistfully.
"If I were," he said, shaking his head, "I'd have caught you—and veiled you—long before this."
I looked at him intently.
"You mean—"
"That I shouldn't have let you delay our marriage this way! Why should you, pray, when my financial affairs have changed so in the last year?"
I rose from my place beside the new piano, breaking gently into his plea.