The last piece was Scheherazade. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. My janizaries shall go with me. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. She has already given birth, thanks to your generosity. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing.
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