"No mistake!" she said; and the sweetness Monty prophesied began to
show itself. The change in her voice was too swift and pronounced to
be convincing. "I did scream. I was, in pain. It was kind of you to
come. Since you are here I would like you to talk to this gentleman."

She glanced at the Arab, an able-looking man, with nose and eyes
expressive of keen thought, and the groomed gray beard that makes an
Arab always dignified.

"Some other time," said Will. "I've an engagement!" And he turned to
go again.

"No--now!" she said. "It's no use--you can't get out! You may as well
be sensible and listen!"

We glanced at each other and both remembered Monty's warning. Will
laughed.

"Take seats," she said, with a very regal gesture. She was not
carelessly dressed, as she had been earlier in the day. From hair to
silken hose and white kid shoes she was immaculate, and she wore rouge
and powder now. In that yellow lamplight (carefully placed, no doubt)
she was certainly good-looking. In fact, she was good-looking at any
time, and only no longer able to face daylight with the tale of youth.
Her eyes were weapons, nothing less. We remained standing.

"This gentleman will speak to you," she said, motioning to the Arab to
commence, and he bowed--from the shoulders upward.

"I am from His Highness the Sultan of Zanzibar" he announced, a little