“All right, Martha,” said Desmond, “see that the spare room is ready for this lady, and don’t go to bed just yet. I shall want you to take this lady to her room.”
The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed:
“You know me; hein?”
Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
“Who does not know the charming Nur-el-Din?” he replied.
“No!” Nur-el-Din commanded with flashing eyes, “no, not that name! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from Termonde!”
Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed again but said nothing.
“I received your letter,” the dancer resumed, “but I did not answer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wish your help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home at the very time I counted upon your aid.”
She flashed a glance at him as though awaiting an apology.
“I am extremely sorry,” said Desmond, “if I had but known...”