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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Now I am sure, sure, sure," she cried, enraptured. "You have never said it before, Seer Marcous darling, and I must kiss you." I checked her with my hands on her soft shoulders. "Only if you promise to marry me." "Of course," said Carlotta. She said it as thoughtlessly and light-heartedly as if I had asked her to come out for a walk. Again I felt the odd spasm of pain.
I replied that I had a respectful distaste for transcendental philosophy. "From a paper of pins to an opera-cloak," she continued. "I'm afraid, dear Mrs. McMurray, an opera-cloak is not the superior limit of a woman's needs," said I. "I wish it were." She called me a cynic and went. This morning Carlotta interrupted me in my work. "Will Seer Marcous come to my room and see my pretty things?"
I knew a little girl once who would have asked: 'What is a dream-city?" "She doesn't ask now because she knows," replied Carlotta. "No. We shall never get there. It looks as if we were riding straight into it but when we get close, it will just be Mogador." "Aren't you happy, Carlotta?" I asked. "Are you, Seer Marcous?"
She turned away her head and put the pantomime parasol between us. I heard a little choking sob. "Let us get off and sit down a little I want to cry. "The end of all feminine philosophy," I said, somewhat brutally. "No. It's getting late. That's only Mogador in front of us. Let us go to it." Carlotta shifted her parasol quickly. "What has happened to you, Seer Marcous?
"Oh, ye-es," broke in Carlotta. "Mrs. Mainwaring has the picture of Seer Marcous in her bedroom, and there is the picture of Mrs. Mainwaring in our drawing-room. You have not seen it? But yes. You have not recognised it, Pasquale? Mrs. Mainwaring is so pretty tonight. Much prettier than the photograph. Yes, you are so pretty.
Carlotta took my coffee-cup when I had finished and set it down in her granddaughterly way. Then she stood in front of me. "Won't you make a little room for me on your chair, Seer Marcous, darling?" I shifted my feet from the foot-rest and she sat down. I may observe that I was not, in oriental bashawdom, occupying the one and only chair on the housetop. "Tell me about the stars," she said.
It is more like heaven than ever. Do you know," she added, mysteriously, "just before I woke it was all dark, and I had lost my angels and I was looking for them." I counselled her sagely to look for no more members of the Hierarchy en deshabille, but to content herself with the humbler denizens of this planet. She pressed my hand. "I'll try to be contented, Seer Marcous, darling."
"I am going to marry Seer Marcous," said Carlotta, calmly. She made this announcement not as a jest, not as a wish, but as the commonplace statement of a fact. There was a moment of stupefied silence. Pasquale who had just struck a match to light a cigarette stared at me and let the flame burn his fingers. I stared at Carlotta, speechless. The colossal impudence of it!
"That's Hamdi Effendi, all right," said Pasquale. Carlotta clutched my arms as I joined her at the back of the box. "Oh, take me away, Seer Marcous, take me away," she moaned piteously. My poor child was white and shaken with fear. I again put my arm round her. "No harm can happen to you, dear," I said, soothingly. "Oh, darling Seer Marcous, take me home," cried Carlotta.
"I? I am a philosopher, my child, and a happy philosopher would be a lusus naturae, a freak, a subject for a Barnum & Bailey Show. If they caught him they would put him between the hairy man and the living skeleton." "I suppose I'm getting to be a philosopher, too," said Carlotta, "and I hate it! Sometimes I think I hate everything and everybody save you, Seer Marcous, darling. It's wicked of me.
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