let him drivel on until he is aware no one is listening."

"Seer Marcous is very wise," said Carlotta, in serious defence of her
lord and master. "All day he reads in big books and writes on paper."

I have been wondering since whether that is not as ironical a judgment
as ever was passed. Am I wise? Is wisdom attained by reading in big
books and writing on paper? Solomon remarks that wisdom dwells with
prudence and finds out knowledge of witty inventions; that the wisdom of
the prudent is to understand his way; that wisdom and understanding keep
one from the strange woman and the stranger which flattereth with her
words. Now, I have not been saved from the strange young woman who has
begun to flatter with her words; I don't in the least understand my way,
since I have no notion what I shall do with her; and in taking her in
and letting her loll upon my sofa of evenings, so as to show off her red
slippers to my guests, I have thrown prudence to the winds; and my
only witty invention was the idea of teaching her typewriting, which
is futile. If the philosophy of the excellent aphorist is sound, I
certainly have not much wisdom to boast of; and none of the big books
will tell me what a wise man would have done had he met Carlotta in the
Embankment Gardens.

I did not think, however, that my wisdom was a proper subject for
discussion. I jerked back the conversation by asking Carlotta why she
called Hamdi Effendi a shocking bad man. Her reply was startling.

"My mother told me. She used to cry all day long. She was sorry she
married Hamdi."

"Poor thing!" said I. "Did he ill-treat her?"

"Oh, ye-es. She had small-pox, too, and she was no longer pretty, so
Hamdi took other wives and she did not like them. They were so fat and
cruel. She used to tell me I must kill myself before I married a Turk.
Hamdi was going to make me marry Mohammed Ali one--two years ago; but he
died. When I said I was so glad" (that seems to be her usual formula of
acknowledgment of news relating to the disasters of her acquaintance),
"Hamdi shut me up in a dark room. Then he said I must marry Mustapha.
That is why I ran away with Harry. See? Oh, Hamdi is shocking bad."

From this and from other side-lights Carlotta has thrown on her
upbringing, I can realise the poor, pretty weak-willed baby of a thing
that was her mother, taking the line of least resistance, the husband
dead and the babe in her womb, and entering the shelter offered by the
amo