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I was in the steamer. At first I was glad, for it went up and
down, side to side, and I thought I would die, for I was so sick;
but afterwards I got better
But where did you come from? I asked.
From Alexandretta.
What were you doing there?
I used to sit in a tree and look over the wall
What wall?
The wall of my housemy father's house. He was not my father,
but he married my mother. I am English. She announced the fact
with a little air of finality.
Indeed? said I.
Yes. Father, motherboth English. He was ViceConsul. He
died before I was born. Then his friend Hamdi Effendi took my
mother and married her. You see?
I confessed I did not. Where does Harry come in? I inquired.
She looked puzzled. Come in? she echoed.
I perceived her knowledge of the English vernacular was limited.
I turned my question differently.
Oh, she said with more animation. He used to pass by the
wall, and I talked to him when there was no one looking. He was
so prettyprettier than you, she paused.
Is it possible? I said, ironically.
Oh, yes, she replied with profound gravity. He had a
moustache, but he was not so long.
Well? You talked to Harry. What then?
In her artless way she told me. A refreshing story, as old as
the crusades, with the accessories of orthodox tradition; a
European disguise, purchased at a slop dealer's by the precious
Harry, a rope, a midnight flitting, a passage taken on board an
English ship; the anchor weighed; and the lovers were free on the
bounding main. A most refreshing story! I put on a sudden air
of sternness, and shot a question at her like a bullet.
Are you making all this up, young woman?
She startedlooked quite scared.
You mean I tell lies? But no. It is all true. Why shouldn't
it be true? How else could I have come here?
The question was unanswerable. Her story was as preposterous as
her garments. But her garments were real enough. I looked long
into her great innocent eyes. Yes, she was telling me the truth.
She babbled on for a little. I gathered that her stepfather,
Hamdi Effendi, was a Turkish official. She had spent all her
life in the harem from which she had eloped with this pretty
young Englishman.
And what must I do? she reiterated.
I told her to give me time. One is not in the habit of meeting
abducted Lights of the Harem in the Embankment Gardens, beneath
the National Liberal Club. It was, in fact, a bewildering

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