Maggie, very cool and neat, a vision of soft blue, a wealth of colouring in the deep brown of her closely braided hair, her lips slightly parted in a smile of welcome, felt, notwithstanding her apparent composure, a strange disturbance of outlook and senses as Prince Shan was ushered into her flower-bedecked little sitting room that afternoon.

The unusual formality of his entrance seemed somehow to suit the man and his manner.
He bowed low as soon as he had crossed the threshold and bowed again over her fingers as she rose from her easy-chair.
"It makes me very happy that you receive me like this," he told her simply.

"It makes it so much easier for me to say the things that are in my heart." "Won't you sit down, please ?" Maggie invited.

"You are so tall, and I hate to be completely dominated." He obeyed at once, but he continued to talk with grave and purposeful seriousness.
"I wish," he said, "to bring myself entirely into accord, for these few minutes, with your western methods and customs.

I address you, therefore, Lady Maggie, with formal words, while I keep back in my heart much that is struggling to express itself.