"I shouldn't have thought you had been able even to see his face." "I had a queer, lightning-like glimpse of it," she reflected.

"To me it seemed as though it were carved out of granite, and as though all that was human about him were the mouth and the eyes.

I wish he hadn't been looking." "Are you flattering yourself that he will recognise you ?" Nigel asked.
"I know that he will," she answered simply.
* * * * * In a corner of the white-and-gold restaurant at the Ritz on the following evening, Prince Shan and Immelan dined tete-a-tete, Immelan in the best of spirits, talking of the pleasant trifles of the world, drinking champagne and pointing out notabilities; Prince Shan, his features and expression unchanging, and his face as white as the perfectly fitting shirt he wore.

His clothes were fashionable and distinctive, his black pearls unobtrusive but wonderful, his smoothly brushed dark hair, his immaculate finger nails, his skilfully tied tie all indicative of his close touch with western civilization.

There was nothing, in fact, except his sphinx-like expression, the slightly unusual shape of his brilliant eyes, and his queer air of personal detachment, to denote the Oriental.