ine here. I observe they are making signs to you
that the food is on the table."

"So it is," said Ventimore. "Shall we sit down?"

"But, my dear Horace," said Mrs. Futvoye, "your butler has forgotten the
chairs."

"You don't appear to realise, my dear," said the Professor, "that in
such an interior as this chairs would be hopelessly incongruous."

"I'm afraid there aren't any," said Horace, for there was nothing but
four fat cushions. "Let's sit down on these," he proposed. "It--it's
more fun!"

"At my time of life," said the Professor, irritably, as he let himself
down on the plumpest cushion, "such fun as may be derived from eating
one's meals on the floor fails to appeal to my sense of humour. However,
I admit that it is thoroughly Oriental."

"_I_ think it's delightful," said Sylvia; "ever so much nicer than a
stiff, conventional dinner-party."

"One may be unconventional," remarked her father, "without escaping the
penalty of stiffness. Go away, sir! go away!" he added snappishly, to
one of the slaves, who was attempting to pour water over his hands.
"Your servant, Ventimore, appears to imagine that I go out to dinner
without taking the trouble to wash my hands previously. This, I may
mention, is _not_ the case."

"It's only an Eastern ceremony, Professor," said Horace.

"I am perfectly well aware of what is customary in the East," retorted
the Professor; "it does not follow that such--ah--hygienic precautions
are either necessary or desirable at a Western table."

Horace made no reply; he was too much occupied in gazing blankly at the
silver dish-covers and wondering what in the world might be underneath;
nor was his perplexity relieved when the covers were removed, for he was
quite at a loss to guess how he was supposed to help the contents
without so much as a fork.

The chief attendant, however, solved that difficulty by intimating in
pantomime that the guests were expected to use their fingers.

Sylvia accomplished this daintily and with intense amusement, but her
father and mother made no secret of their repugnance. "If I were dining
in the desert with a Sheik, sir," observed the Professor, "I should, I
hope, know how to conform to his habits and prejudices. Here, in the
heart of London, I confess all this strikes me as a piece of needless
pedantry."

"I'm very sorry," said Horace; "I'd have some knives and forks if I
could--but I'm afraid these fellows don't even understand what they are,
s