"Don't go just yet, dear. I beg of you to remain a few minutes." To her husband: "My lord, will you make my friend feel at home, while I am gone a little while? I have just been hard to her, because she was rude to you; but I do not think she meant to be."
Nashan was gone from the room only a short time, yet I hardly recognized her on her return. She was dressed in one of the oriental gowns his grandmother had sent her, and which she had despised and trampled upon. Her French coiffure had disappeared. A Turkish veil was arranged on her head, in the strict oriental fashion for indoors, and on her feet, somehow, she had fastened his slippers.
She bowed low before her husband.
"These, my master, are the garments your honourable grandmother sent me. I hope you like me in them."
He could not speak, nor was there any need; for his face was a worshipful prayer.
She turned to me with a proud little toss of her head.
"Am I a great lady?" she asked as of old, with whimsical seriousness, "or am I a saltimbanque?"
"You are indeed a great lady," I said—and I meant it.
