"Oh, is she, though?" said Horace, blankly. "I'm exceedingly obliged, but, whatever may be the lady's attractions----" "Her nose," recited the Jinnee, with enthusiasm, "is like unto the keen edge of a polished sword; her hair resembleth jewels, and her cheeks are ruddy as wine. She hath heavy lips, and when she looketh aside she putteth to shame the wild cows...." "My good, excellent friend," said Horace, by no means impressed by this catalogue of charms, "one doesn't marry to mortify wild cows." "When she walketh with a vacillating gait," continued Fakrash, as though he had not been interrupted, "the willow branch itself turneth green with envy." "Personally," said Horace, "a waddle doesn't strike me as particularly fascinating--it's quite a matter of taste. Do you happen to have seen this enchantress lately?" "My eyes have not been refreshed by her manifold beauties since I was enclosed by Suleyman--whose name be accursed--in the brass bottle of which thou knowest. Why dost thou ask?" "Merely because it occurred to me that, after very nearly three thousand years, your charming kinswoman may--well, to put it as mildly as possible, not have altogether escaped the usual effects of Time. I mean, she must be getting on, you know!" "O, silly-bearded one!" said the Jinnee, in half-scornful rebuke; "art thou, then, ignorant that we of the Jinn are not as mortals, that we should feel the ravages of age?" "Forgive me if I'm personal," said Horace; "but surely your own hair and beard might be described as rather inclining to grey." "Not from age," said Fakrash, "This cometh from long confinement." "I see," said Horace. "Like the Prisoner of Chillon. Well, assuming that the lady in question is still in the bloom of early youth, I see one fatal difficulty to becoming her suitor." "Doubtless," said the Jinnee, "thou art referring to Jarjarees, the son of Rejmoos, the son of Iblees?" "No, I wasn't," said Horace; "because, you see, I don't remember having ever heard of him. However, he's _another_ fatal difficulty. That makes two of them." "Surely I have spoken of him to thee as my deadliest foe? It is true that he is a powerful and vindictive Efreet, who hath long persecuted the beauteous Bedeea with hateful attentions. Yet it may be possible, by good fortune, to overthrow him." "Then I gather that any suitor for Bedeea's hand would be looked upon as a rival by the amiable Jarjarees?" "Far is he from being of an amiable disposition," answered the Jinnee, simply, "and he would be so transported by rage and jealousy that he would certainly challenge thee to mortal combat." "Then that settles it," said Horace. "I don't think any one can fairly call me a coward, but I do draw the line at fighting an Efreet for the hand of a lady I've never seen. How do I know he'll fight fair?"