“I once met our friend Hamdi,” Pasquale continued. “He was the politest old ruffian that ever had a long nose and was pitted with smallpox.” “Yes, yes!” cried Carlotta, delighted. “That is Hamdi.” “Is there any disreputable foreigner that you are not familiar with?” I asked, somewhat sarcastically. “I hope not,” he laughed. “You must know I had got into a deuce of a row at Aleppo, about eighteen months ago, and had to take to my heels. Alexandretta is the port of Aleppo and Hamdi is a sort of boss policeman there.” “He is very rich.” “He ought to be. My interview with him cost me a thousand pounds--the bald-headed scoundrel!” “He is a shocking bad man,” said Carlotta, gravely. “I’m afraid it is Mr. Pasquale who is the shocking bad man,” I said, amused. “What had you been doing in Aleppo?” “_Maxime debetur_,” said he. “English are very wicked when they go to Syria,” she remarked. “How can you possibly know?” I said. “Oh, I know,” replied Carlotta, with a toss of her chin. “My friend,” said Pasquale, lighting a cigarette, “I have travelled much in the East, and have had considerable adventures by the way; and I can assure you that what the oriental lady doesn’t know about essential things is not worth knowing. Their life from the cradle to the grave is a concentration of all their faculties, mortal and immortal, upon the two vital questions, digestion and sex.” “What is sex?” asked Carlotta. “It is the Fundamental Blunder of Creation,” said I. “I do not understand,” said Carlotta. “Nobody tries to understand Sir Marcus,” said Pasquale, cheerfully. “We just let him drivel on until he is aware no one is listening.” “Seer Marcous is very wise,” said Carlotta, in serious defence of her lord and master. “All day he reads in big books and writes on paper.” I have been wondering since whether that is not as ironical a judgment as ever was passed. Am I wise? Is wisdom attained by reading in big books and writing on paper? Solomon remarks that wisdom dwells with prudence and finds out knowledge of witty inventions; that the wisdom of the prudent is to understand his way; that wisdom and understanding keep one from the strange woman and the stranger which flattereth with her words. Now, I have not been saved from the strange young woman who has begun to flatter with her words; I don’t in the least understand my way, since I have no notion what I shall do with her; and in taking her in and letting her loll upon my sofa of evenings, so as to show off her red slippers to my guests, I have thrown prudence to the winds; and my only witty invention was the idea of teaching her typewriting, which is futile. If the philosophy of the excellent aphorist is sound, I certainly have not much wisdom to boast of; and none of the big books will tell me what a wise man would have done had he met Carlotta in the Embankment Gardens.