“Y’old impostor, Evie!” shouted Brian.
“I was not. ’Twas all I could do—to think how everything had gone wrong just as it was getting right. And poor Ambrose lying there getting soaked with tears, and not a chance of saying a word because of the noise!”
“As you may imagine, your sister is colouring her narrative a bit,” supplied Richard. “’Matter of fact, the Khan was as much taken aback as we were, and began to look most uncommon foolish. It was unnecessary for me to say anything—even had I had the chance.”
“Do I understand, then, that Evie wept and wept until her tears would float him out of the place, still looking foolish?” demanded Brian.
“You do not. The Seal of Solomon was still hung round Ambrose’s neck, and the chain cot my hair as I cried. That reminded me of the thing.”
“It would,” acquiesced Brian gravely.
“And I jumped up, and took it off Ambrose, and held it out to the youth and said, ‘Ah, take it, take it, and my blessing with it! All the luck you can have I’ll wish you with all my heart, and if it’s my poor eyes y’are set on I’ll give them to y’on a plate like St Lucy, and go groping blind all the rest of my life, but don’t take me away from Ambrose here!’”
“Precious moving!” remarked Brian. “And I hope Kamal-ud-din was duly moved?”
“He was not.” Eveleen paused, and Richard filled the gap.
“Unfortunately my wife spoke in English, you see—which is not one of the Khan’s accomplishments. Otherwise her rash offer might have been accepted, and you would have found a shocking spectacle to greet you.”