You have a bone
to pick with your wife. She was brought up in the same school of magic
that I was, hence I hate her. She has the secret of the same rouge, and
concocts the same potions and love-filters; but she shall smart for it.
Excellent man! injured husband! Monopolize to yourself all the
whip-cords of Bagdad.'
Sid Norman kneeled and kissed her hand. Xarifa looked up from her
embroidery and frowned.
The benefactress withdrew to consult her books, but returned presently.
'Your wife,' she said, 'has gone out shopping, also to leave some cards,
to fulfil an engagement with the French minister, and to engage a band
of music for an entertainment at which Prince Schearazade is expected to
be present. Wait patiently for her return, then confront her boldly,
upbraid her, toss this liquor in her eyes, and then you shall see what
you shall see.'
Sid Norman went to his late home, which was in the West End, the Fifth
Avenue of Bagdad. He opened the door, but silence prevailed. Costly
silks, and many extravagant and superfluous things, lay strewn about. He
sat down in a rocking-chair and gazed at a full-length portrait of the
Haroun Alraschid.
About noon the lady came in, with six shop clerks after her, bearing
packages, tossed off her head-dress, and flung herself inanimately on
the sofa.
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