Merciful Mahomet! She was as lean and supple as an Austrian race-horse!
He could say nothing. She ran over and gave him a smack on the forehead
and then said cheerily:
"Well, popsy, here I am! What do you think of me?"
While Count Selim Malagaski was holding to his chair and trying to sort
out from the limited vocabulary of Morovenia the words that could
express his boiling emotions, he saw Popova standing shamefaced in the
doorway. Was it really Popova? The tutor wore a traveling-suit with
large British checks, a blue four-in-hand, and, instead of a fez, a
rakish cap with a peak in front. As he edged into the room the young
women attendants filed timidly behind him. Horror upon horrors! They
were in shirt-waists, with skirts that came tightly about the hips, and
every one of them wore a chip hat, and not one of them was veiled!
The Governor-General tried to steady himself in order to meet this
unprecedented crisis.
"So this is how you have managed my affairs?" he said in angry tones to
the trembling Popova.
[Illustration: Popsy.]
"What is the meaning of this shocking exhibition?"
"Don't blame him, father," spoke up Kalora. "I am responsible for
whatever has happened. We have seen something of the world.
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