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Updated: May 9, 2025
Do you not see that I am in earnest?" "Perfectly," squeaked Chrysophrasia. "So am I. But somebody might hear my natural voice, you know." Hermione started, and drew back a little. It was a strange position, for Alexander was evidently under the impression that he was making love to herself, and her aunt was amused by drawing him on. She hesitated, not knowing what she ought to do.
We had not advanced another step in our investigations, in spite of all our efforts, when we received news that the Carvels, accompanied by Madame Patoff and Chrysophrasia Dabstreak, were on their way to Constantinople.
There is always a goodly number of them wherever antiquities are to be found, and Chrysophrasia was hailed by those of her persuasion with the mingled delight and jealousy which scientific bodies feel when a new scientist appears upon the horizon.
Carvel, "and I suppose Macaulay has made up his mind that we must know his cousin." "Is not Professor Cutter coming, too, mamma?" asked Hermione. "I heard papa say so the other day." "Oh, dear, yes!" exclaimed Chrysophrasia, wearily. "Professor Cutter is coming, with his nasty science, and his lenses, and his mathematics.
Then they descended the steps again and joined Chrysophrasia and Paul, who were waiting below. "Aunt Chrysophrasia says she must go to the bazaar," said the latter. "Yes," remarked Miss Dabstreak, "I really must. That Jew! Oh, that Jew! He haunts my dreams. I see him at night, dressed like Moses, with a linen ephod, you know, holding up that Persian embroidery. It is more than my soul can bear!"
The professor arrived in the early morning by the Brindisi boat, and Hermione proposed that Chrysophrasia, Paul, Cutter, and herself should make a party to go over to Stamboul on the same afternoon. It was warm indeed, but she represented that as the whole family were to move up the Bosphorus on the following day, it would be long before they would have a chance of going to Stamboul again.
She could not take her eyes from her nephew, and he appeared to understand that he had already made a conquest of the æsthetic old maid, for he took her admiration for granted, and addressed himself to Mrs. Carvel; not losing sight of Chrysophrasia, however, but looking pleasantly at her as he talked, though his words were meant for her sister.
As luck would have it, our talk approached the subject of crime in general, and John Carvel asked me some question about the average number of murders in India, taking ten years together, as compared with the number committed in Europe. While I was hesitating and trying to recollect some figures I had once known, Chrysophrasia rushed into the conversation in her usual wild way.
Do not tell me that the people here understand the steam-engine, pray do not! All the delicacy of my illusions is vanishing like a dream!" Chrysophrasia sometimes reminds me of a certain imperial sportsman who once shot an eagle in the Tyrol. "An eagle!" he cried contemptuously, when told what it was. "Gentlemen, do not trifle with me, an eagle always has two heads. This must be some other bird."
"I think you are fairly caught, aunt Chrysophrasia," observed Paul, with a laugh. "Who would have guessed that there was so much humor in an Israelite?" asked Chrysophrasia, with a sad intonation. "I cannot wear the saint's tea-gown, Marchetto," she continued; "otherwise I would gladly give you twenty-five pounds for it. Eight pounds for the embroidery, no more. It is not worth so much.
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