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the shingle, where the sea changed suddenly from ultramarine to a
fringe of feathery white. A white sail or two flecked the blue
of the bay. A few white wisps of cirrus gleamed above our heads.
Around us, on the clifftops, the green pastures and meadows and,
farther inland, the cornfields stacked in harvest, and great
masses of trees. Lying on our backs, between sea and sky, we
seemed utterly alone. Carlotta and I were the sole inhabitants
of the earth. I dreamily disintegrated caramels from their
sticky tissuepaper wrappings for Carlotta's consumption.
After a while unconquerable drowsiness crept over me; and a
little later I had an odd sense of perfect quietude. I was lying
amid moss and violets. In a languorous way I wondered how my
surroundings had changed, and at last I awoke to find my head
propped on Carlotta's lap and shaded by her red parasol, while
she sat happy in full sunshine. I was springing from this
posture of impropriety when she laughed and laid restraining
hands on my shoulders.
No. You must not move. You look so pretty. And it is so nice.
I put your head there so that it should be soft. You have been
sound asleep.
I have also been abominably impolite, said I. I humbly beg
your pardon, Carlotta.
Oh, I am not cross, she laughed. Then still keeping her hands
on me, she settled her limbs into a more comfortable position.
There! Now I can play at being a good little Turkish wife.
She fashioned into a fan the _Matin_ newspaper, which I had
bought for the luxurious purpose of not reading, and fanned me.
That is what Ayesha used to do to Hamdi. And Ayesha used to
tell him stories. But my lord does not like his slave's stories.
Decidedly not, said I.
I have heard much of Ayesha, a pretty animal organism who appears
to have turned her elderly husband into a doting fool. I am
beginning to have a contempt for Hamdi Effendi.
They are what you call improper, eh? she laughed, referring to
the tales. I will sing you a Turkish song which you will not
understand.
Is it a suitable song?
Kim bilirwho knows? said Carlotta.
She began a melancholy, crooning, guttural ditty; but broke off
suddenly.
Oh! but it is stupid. Like the Turkish dancing. Oh,
everything in Alexandretta was stupid! Sometimes I think I have
never seen Alexandrettaor Ayeshaor Hamdi. I think I always
am with you.
This must be so, as of late she has spoken little of her harem
life; she talks chiefly of the small daily happenings, and
already we have a store of common interests. The present is her

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