“To-morrow you’re going to take me to see Uncle Paulos again on the way to Miletis. Father is coming later; he’s got things to do here, so he says that we are to ride on ahead, and I want to go to Uncle Paulos. It’s only a little way off the road.”
“I should like to go there again very much. I like your Uncle Paulos. He might have been a fairy prince easily.”
“No,” said Aryenis; “he plays another part.”
“What’s that?” said I.
“Fairy godfather generally. Now I’m going to see if father’s properly tied up. Don’t forget that we start early. Good-night, Harilek.”
“Good-night—Shahzadi.”
As I went to my room I wondered who Aryenis’s fairy prince, or the one who might be a fairy prince, was. I felt I should hate the sight of him pretty usefully when I did run into him. And the blighter had no marks, “not even a little one,” while I was marked with a very usefully puckered cheek.
I found Forsyth in bed, smoking the last of his cigarettes.
“No more tobacco after to-night. D——!” said he. “I wonder if there’s likely to be any wild tobacco growing in this country?”
“May be, but I doubt it. We’ve got a little tea left, I think, if you’d like that.”