"Pardon, Effendi," he was murmuring. "Is this an American ball? I was asked at nine o'clock; it is now past eleven. Is there not some mistake?"
"None," I answered. "When a hostess puts nine o'clock on her card of invitation she expects her guests at eleven or half-past, and would be much embarrassed to be taken literally."
As we were speaking, our host rose. The men, reluctantly throwing away their cigars, began to enter the ball-room through the open windows. On their approach the groups of women broke up, the men joining the girls where they sat, or inviting them out to the lantern-lit piazza, where the couples retired to dim, palm-embowered corners.
"Are you sure I have not made a mistake?" asked my interlocutor, with a faint quiver of the eyelids. "It is my intention, while travelling, to remain faithful to my harem."
I hastened to reassure him and explain that he was in an exclusive and reserved society.
"Indeed," he murmured incredulously. "When I was passing through New York last winter a lady was pointed out to me as the owner of marvellous jewels and vast wealth, but with absolutely no social position.
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