“He is very rich.”
“He ought to be. My interview with him cost me a thousand pounds—the bald-headed scoundrel!”
“He is a shocking bad man,” said Carlotta, gravely.
“I’m afraid it is Mr. Pasquale who is the shocking bad man,” I said, amused. “What had you been doing in Aleppo?”
“Maxime debetur,” said he.
“English are very wicked when they go to Syria,” she remarked.
“How can you possibly know?” I said.
“Oh, I know,” replied Carlotta, with a toss of her chin.
“My friend,” said Pasquale, lighting a cigarette, “I have travelled much in the East, and have had considerable adventures by the way; and I can assure you that what the oriental lady doesn’t know about essential things is not worth knowing. Their life from the cradle to the grave is a concentration of all their faculties, mortal and immortal, upon the two vital questions, digestion and sex.”
“What is sex?” asked Carlotta.