o it's useless to order any. We--we must rough it a little, that's all.
I hope that--er--fish is all right, Professor?"

He did not know precisely what kind of fish it was, but it was fried in
oil of sesame and flavoured with a mixture of cinnamon and ginger, and
the Professor did not appear to be making much progress with it.
Ventimore himself would have infinitely preferred the original cod and
oyster sauce, but that could not be helped now.

"Thank you," said the Professor, "it is curious--but characteristic. Not
_any_ more, thank you."

Horace could only trust that the next course would be more of a success.
It was a dish of mutton, stewed with peaches, jujubes and sugar, which
Sylvia declared was delicious. Her parents made no comment.

"Might I ask for something to drink?" said the Professor, presently;
whereupon a cupbearer poured him a goblet of iced sherbet perfumed with
conserve of violets.

"I'm very sorry, my dear fellow," he said, after sipping it, "but if I
drink this I shall be ill all next day. If I might have a glass of
wine----"

Another slave instantly handed him a cup of wine, which he tasted and
set down with a wry face and a shudder. Horace tried some afterwards,
and was not surprised. It was a strong, harsh wine, in which goatskin
and resin struggled for predominance.

"It's an old and, I make no doubt, a fine wine," observed the Professor,
with studied politeness, "but I fancy it must have suffered in
transportation. I really think that, with my gouty tendency, a little
whisky and Apollinaris would be better for me--if you keep such
occidental fluids in the house?"

Horace felt convinced that it would be useless to order the slaves to
bring whisky or Apollinaris, which were of course, unknown in the
Jinnee's time, so he could do nothing but apologise for their absence.

"No matter," said the Professor; "I am not so thirsty that I cannot wait
till I get home."

It was some consolation that both Sylvia and her mother commended the
sherbet, and even appreciated--or were so obliging as to say they
appreciated--the _entree_, which consisted of rice and mincemeat wrapped
in vine-leaves, and certainly was not appetising in appearance, besides
being difficult to dispose of gracefully.

It was followed by a whole lamb fried in oil, stuffed with pounded
pistachio nuts, pepper, nutmeg, and coriander seeds, and liberally
besprinkled with rose-water and musk.

Only Horace had sufficient courage