He was feverishly, frantically anxious.
"Tell me that again," he shrieked.

"You mean it?
Swear that you mean it." Prince Shan's gesture as he turned away was one of supreme contempt.
"A Shan," he said, "never needs to repeat." There was the bustle of arriving police, the story of a revolver which had gone off by accident, a very puzzling contretemps expounded for their benefit.

The situation, and the participants in it, seemed to dissolve with such facility that it was hard for any one to understand what had actually happened.

Prince Shan, with Maggie on his arm, was talking to the leader of the orchestra, who had suddenly reappeared.

The former turned to his companion.
"It is not my custom to dance," he said, "but the waltz that they were beginning to play seemed to me to have a little of the lure of our own music.