"No, my Heart. When I am cured of my illness we shall return to Baalbek, if you like." "Eigh, good. Now, I want to say--no. I shame to speak about such matters." "Speak, _ya Gazalty_ (O my Doe or Dawn or both); your words are like the scented breeze, like the ethereal moon rays, which enter into this Temple without permission. Speak, and light up this ruined Temple of thine." "How sweet are Your words, but really I can not understand them. They are like the sweetmeats my father brought with him once from Damascus. One eats and exclaims, 'How delicious!' But one never knows how they are made, and what they are made of. I wish I could speak like you, _ya habibi_. I would not shame to say then what I want." "Say what you wish. My heart is open, and your words are silvery moonbeams." "Do not blame me then. I am so simple, you know, so foolish. And I would like to know if you are going to Church on our wedding day in the clothes you have on now." "Not if you object to them, my Heart." "Eigh, good! And must I come in my ordinary Sunday dress? It is so plain; it has not a single ruffle to it." "And what are ruffles for?" "I never saw a bride in a plain gown; they all have ruffles and flounces to them. And when I look at your lovely hair--O let people say what they like! A gown without ruffles is ugly.--So, you will buy me a sky-blue silk dress, _ya habibi_ and a pink one, too, with plenty of ruffles on them? Will you not?" "Yes, my Heart, you shall have what you desire. But in the desert you can not wear these dresses. The Arabs will laugh at you. For the women there wear only plain muslin dipped in indigo." "Then, I will have but one dress of sky-blue silk for the wedding." "Certainly, my Heart. And the ruffles shall be as many and as long as you desire them." And while the many-ruffled sky-blue dress is being made, Khalid, inspired by Najma's remarks on his hair, rhapsodises on flounces and ruffles. Of this striking piece of fantasy, in which are scintillations of the great Truth, we note the following: