“I desire pardon,” Wu Ling rejoined, mystified.
“You must be wealthy—very rich.”
Wu Ling smiled tolerantly. He turned back, swung open once more the door, and turned on the light. He pointed to the Image, serene and benevolent.
“What counts money?” he murmured.
They were about halfway through the outer warehouse on their way to the lighter room beyond, when a thing happened so amazing that Ballaston stopped short and gripped his companion by the shoulder. Returning towards them was Endacott, and by his side a girl. She was dressed simply enough in the white clothes and shady straw hat which the climate demanded, but there were other things which made her appearance in such a place curiously incongruous. She broke off in her conversation and looked at Gregory Ballaston in frank astonishment. It was certainly an unusual meeting place for two young people of the modern world.
“I am taking my niece to see our new treasure,” Mr. Endacott observed, a little stiffly. “Will you lend me the key, Wu Ling, or will you take us back yourself?”
“I will return,” Wu Ling replied gravely. “The young gentleman will excuse.”
“If I too might be permitted one more glimpse,” Ballaston begged.
The girl smiled at him and glanced at her companion. Mr. Endacott recalled the conventions of his past.
“I should like, my dear,” he said, “to present our young visitor to you, but I am not sure that I remember his name, or that I have even heard it.”