"No, not now."
"The English papers are upon the small table, sir." And Thomson glided from the room.
The Colonel looked about him. "Humph! Millionaires fix themselves luxuriously."
"I keep seeing her," said Hagar. "Her body lying drowned there."
The Colonel glanced at her. "Pull yourself together, Gipsy! Whatever you do, don't get morbid."
"I won't," Hagar answered. "I'm like you there, grandfather. I hate it. But it isn't morbidness to think a little of her."
The Arab brought the coffee. "Turkish coffee!" said the Colonel, not without relish in his voice. "I always wanted to taste—" He did so, appreciatively. "Ah, it's good—" He leaned back in the deep wicker chair and gazed upon the latest attendant. "And what may be your name?"
The figure spread its hands and said something unintelligible. "Humph! Comment vous nommez-vous?"
"Mahomet, Monsieur."