“Nonsense, dear,” said I.
But Pasquale, looking around the house, cried:
“By Jove! she’s right. I would recognise the old villain a thousand years hence in Tartarus. There he is.”
I left Carlotta, and the first person my eyes rested upon in the stalls was my obese but suave Oriental, regarding the box with an impassive countenance.
“That’s Hamdi Effendi, all right,” said Pasquale.
Carlotta clutched my arms as I joined her at the back of the box.
“Oh, take me away, Seer Marcous, take me away,” she moaned piteously. My poor child was white and shaken with fear. I again put my arm round her.
“No harm can happen to you, dear,” I said, soothingly.
“Oh, darling Seer Marcous, take me home,” cried Carlotta.
“Very well,” said I. I helped her on with her wrap, and apologising to the two others, begged them to remain.