“Sorry your wife isn’t coming, Belmont,” said the Colonel.
“I think she had a touch of the sun yesterday. Her head aches very badly.”
His voice was strong and thick like his figure.
“I should stay to keep her company, Mr. Belmont,” said the little American old maid; “but I learn that Mrs. Shlesinger finds the ride too long for her, and has some letters which she must mail to-day, so Mrs. Belmont will not be lonesome.”
“You’re very good, Miss Adams. We shall be back, you know, by two o’clock.”
“Is that certain?”
“It must be certain, for we are taking no lunch with us, and we shall be famished by then.”
“Yes, I expect we shall be ready for a hock and seltzer at any rate,” said the Colonel. “This desert dust gives a flavour to the worst wine.”
“Now, ladies and gentlemen!” cried Mansoor, the dragoman, moving forward with something of the priest in his flowing garments and smooth, clean-shaven face. “We must start early that
