I say, Archie, what are we to do?
The one man I trust in Al Shaldomir!
I have brought two watchers of the doorstep to guard the noble lady.
He says he’s brought two watchers of the doorstep to look after Miss Clement.
Two chaperons! Splendid! She can go anywhere now.
Well, really, that is better. Yes that will be all right. We can find a room for you now. The trouble was your being alone. I hope you’ll like them. [To Daoud.] Tell them to enter here.
Daoud [beckoning in the doorway]
That’s all right, Archie, isn’t it?
Yes, that’s all right. A chaperon’s
chaperon, black or white.
You won’t mind their being black, will you,
No, I shan’t mind. They can’t be worse than white ones.
[Enter Bazzalol and Thoothoobaba two enormous Nubians, bearing peacock fans and wearing scimitars. All stare at them. They begin to fan slightly.]
The watchers of the doorstep.
Idiot, Daoud! Fools! Dolts! Men may not guard a lady’s door.
[Bazzalol and Thoothoobaba smile ingratiatingly.]
We are not men.
Six and a half years elapse
THE SONG OF THE IRIS MARSHES
When morn is bright on the mountains olden
Till dawn is lost in the blaze of day,
When morn is bright and the marshes golden,
Where shall the lost lights fade away?
And where, my love, shall we dream to-day?
Dawn is fled to the marshy hollows
Where ghosts of stars in the dimness stray,
And the water is streaked with the flash of
And all through summer the iris sway.
But where, my love, shall we dream to-day?
When night is black in the iris marshes.