And I sat feeling rather like a Roman, with that gorgeous toga wrapped around me; I might have been bearing Rome's ultimatum to the Amazons, supposing those bellicose ladies to have existed in Rome's day.
But it was presently made exceedingly clear to me that Yasmini and not I was deliverer of ultimatums.

She had the whole future of the world doped out, and her golden voice proceeded to herald a few of the details in mellifluous Punjabi.
"Princesses," she began, although doubtless some of them were not princesses, "this holy and benign Mahatma has been sentenced to die to-night, by those who resent his having trusted women with royal secrets.

He is too proud to appeal for mercy; too indifferent to his own welfare to seek to avoid the unjust penalty.

But there are others who are proud, and who are not indifferent! "We women are too proud to let this Gray Mahatma die on our account! And it shall not be said of us that we consented to the death of the man who gave us our first glimpse of the ancient mysteries! I say the Gray Mahatma shall not die to-night!" That challenge rang to the roof, and the women fluttered and thrilled to it.

I confess that it thrilled me, for I did not care to think of the Mahatma's death, having come rather to like the man.